Fools & Sages
by xstormqueenx
Summary: With Flynn's fate hanging in the balance, Clara has to set aside her broken heart and make sure he becomes the Librarian. But the deed is easier said than done... {The Librarian: Quest For The Spear, AU}.
1. Quatermain

**Author's Note:** This is the sequel to _By The Sword._ The reading order so far for all of my Flynn/Clara fiction is: **Season 1** \- _And She Was Not An Adventure, Plato's Step-Daughter, A Christmas Clara, Sure As Sin, Once Upon A Dime, Reap The Whirlwind,_ _Out Of The Darkness, And Into The Light, By The Sword_ and **(Film Tie-In)** _\- Fools & Sages_. Each new Flynn/Clara story will include an updated reading order. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Quatermain**

 _"I'm... I'm fading," Flynn said, turning to her, his voice becoming bizarrely high. "From the feet up," he added oddly, holding up his leg, everything below his ankle completely gone._

 _"Oh my God," Clara said, her hands flying to her mouth, "oh my God!"_

 _"Keep it together, Clara," Jenkins ordered, snatching up a magnifying glass, his face paling despite himself._

 _"This is my fault, isn't it!?" Clara cried, the tears beginning to fall afresh, Flynn now running around like a headless chicken on non-existent feet. "I've undone my decision" -_

 _\- "I'm too dishy to disappear!" Flynn bewailed to the heavens. "Who's going to colour-code my cravat collection now!?"_

 _"Do something," Clara sobbed, grabbing Jenkins's arm, "for God's sake, do something!"_

 _Jenkins just slapped her across the face with a rubber fish, sending her sideways, before throwing a bucket of water over Flynn, stopping him in his sopping tracks. "I always knew a magical magnifying glass would prove useful," Jenkins said in an undertone before setting it down on the table, "so useful I may invest in another one."_

 _"Jenkins," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "what in the name of Long John's long johns is happening!?"_

 _"You have everything and nothing to do with this," Jenkins fired at a still stunned Clara, "but it was his choice," he whirled on Flynn, the tails of his frock-coat flying, "and now he has to live with the consequences of that choice," he said, turning to Clara again._

 _"Even as it kills me!?" Flynn squeaked._

 _"No," Jenkins said, now pacing the floor, brow furrowing, "of course not. But in your alternate timeline, you chose not to attend that interview, disobeying a direct order from the Library I might add" -_

 _\- "Get to the point!" Clara screeched as Flynn started to fade further from view._

 _"The point is you dragged him out of his own timeline and into yours, wherein he died, the end – or almost anyways," Jenkins said, eying Flynn like he was from Mars._

 _Clara just gaped at Jenkins, resembling the rubber fish he had just slapped her with._

 _"You are what killed him," Jenkins said from between gritted teeth, "yet you are also what is keeping him alive. The alternate timelines acted as a sort of Faraday cage – even if someone died in their substitute life, once reality righted itself, they would be restored to their original existence – but you robbed him of that refuge," Jenkins continued, circling Clara, "he became part of your timeline instead, a sort of bizarre graft – what I'm trying to say in shorthand is that the only reason Flynn is still here so far is because you're here."_

 _"But the time she bought me is evidently running out," Flynn said acerbically, flexing his now see-through fingers._

 _"Which is why she has to go back and make sure you become the Librarian," Jenkins said, making for the back door, "and that you attend that damned interview!"_

 _"What!?" Clara protested, doing a double-take._

 _"If Flynn fades from existence," Jenkins explained impatiently, "so will everything he has ever done, all those souls he saved, the apocalypses he averted" -_

 _\- "All those sartorial successes I sported," Flynn wailed, burying his face in his now non-existent hands._

 _"Fine, I'll do it," Clara said, face completely bloodless, "I'll go back."_

 _"If he goes down, he's taking you with him," Jenkins warned her, flinging open the back door._

 _"Never mind me," Clara spat, tucking her hair behind her ears, "worry about Casper over there."_

 _"You can't escape your fate, Clara Hartley," Jenkins said quietly, but she just looked at him, holding his gaze for a long moment, before throwing herself into the fray, history repeating itself -_

"You okay, kid!?"

Clara sat up, head spinning, stars exploding in front of her eyes. Around and above her, there was a cacophony of concerned voices, but what stood out most of all was a Southern drawl, reminding her of all that she was running from. "I'll... I'll be alright," she said shakily, staggering to her feet, "I - I mean I'm fine."

"You need to look where you're goin', man," Jacob snapped at his father, "you're gonna end up killin' somebody swingin' that piece of scaffoldin' about like a baseball bat!"

"Girl came barrellin' out of nowhere," Isaac said coolly, "ain't my fault _she_ wasn't lookin' where she was goin'."

Jacob just shook his head, Isaac coolly raising an eyebrow in response before turning and leaving, Jacob watching him go. "Sorry about that," he apologized, turning to Clara, "the ole man's a surly old sod, he don't mean no harm, not really."

Clara just stared at Jacob, her mouth opening and closing, remembering as though from far away _I already had a job, family business..._ This was the Jacob of ten years ago, living a lie, standing right in front of her right now, the past colliding with the future. "You're – you're a surveyor," she stuttered stupidly, glancing around her, only to find herself in what seemed to be a construction site.

"Yeah," Jacob said, looking amused, "more or less. Just finishin' on workin' on your Pyramid."

"My what!?" Clara said incredulously, doing a double-take.

"Your exact replica of the Great Pyramid," Jacob said slowly, "at one twentieth scale includin' its missin' capstone. I mean, you're battin' for the brainiacs, ain't ya?" He gestured to her baggy white t-shirt and black Lycra shorts, Clara glancing down at herself, only to see she'd undergone yet another wardrobe change, her shaking hand then reaching up to her hair, only to find it pulled back in a high ponytail.

"If you mean I'm part of the translations team, yes," Clara said stiffly, thinking on her trainered feet, "otherwise you're making it sound like I've misplaced a polyhedron."

Jacob just grinned, a rueful twist of the lips Clara was all too familiar with. "Hieroglyphics, huh?" he said, rolling up a denim sleeve.

"I'm actually more an Occitan kind of person," Clara said uneasily, "but academics can't be choosers. I have to go where the funding is."

"Gotta do what we gotta do, right?" Jacob said, glancing over his shoulder, only to see his father gesturing impatiently, tapping his watch. "Time is money," he said, exhaling sharply, "and I'm makin' my ole man bankrupt. It's been nice talkin' to you kid, maybe I'll see you around." He tipped an imaginary hat at her, before turning and leaving, the heavy tread of his boots echoing oddly around the auditorium, reverberating down the years.

* * *

Clara crept behind a pillar, not knowing what the hell she was meant to be doing apart from finding Flynn, her mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Was there a reason why the first face she'd seen was Jacob Stone? Or was it just a co-incidence? It couldn't possibly be fate, could it? But fate had flung her here in the first place.

Biting her lip, she glanced around her, noting the hunched shoulders and furrowed brows of her supposedly fellow academics, all similarly dressed to her, the sound of pens scribbling across paper disturbing the silence. She glanced down at her trainers, trying to see them as a sign that she was supposed to be here, finding no other way to explain her magical makeover.

Forcing herself to focus, she slunk over to a wall, pretending to study its hieroglyphics, her brow furrowing in fake thought, only to frown for real. "This is complete codswallop," she muttered to herself, "utterly idiotic tripe" -

\- "Fancy some folderol?"

Clara whirled around, only to find herself facing Flynn, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's.

"You're only focusing on the Fourth Dynasty," he said pompously, gesturing to the wall behind her, "these particular glyphs are actually derived" -

\- "From the Third Dynasty regional variance," Clara said coldly, recovering herself. "Yes, I know."

"You looked like you didn't."

"Well, I do," Clara snapped, turning away from him, her hands starting to shake despite her apparently cool demeanour. Events were unfolding too fast, making her head spin again, but she didn't have time to do detective work and track Flynn down. So it was only logical the back door had taken a short cut and dumped her headfirst into Flynn's life, but all the same, she wished she'd been given a moment to prepare herself.

"It's through these stones we can summon the power of the gods," Flynn said, dark eyes distant, utterly unaware of Clara's ignominy, "absolutely square on every level..." As he waffled on, sliding into a dodgy French accent that meant to pay tribute to Napoleon whom he was now quoting, Clara finally turned around, using his soliloquy as cover to study him, taking in his towering frame and messy dark hair, how his safari style jacket was stained at the sleeves.

"Flynn," Clara began, her voice cracking, remembering the Library, their last words, Flynn beginning to fade out of existence, "I" -

\- "I don't know you," Flynn said suddenly, his words striking her through the heart like a sword, "are you the other candidate?"

Clara just stared at him, bewildered.

"For the promotion," Flynn said impatiently, "as head of the translations team."

"What, can't handle a little competition?" Clara flared up, recovering herself again, knowing she was allowing herself to be sidetracked and not caring.

"You might be little, but I'm sure I can handle you," Flynn retorted, nostrils flaring.

"Never judge a book by its cover, Quatermain," Clara said scathingly.

"Then maybe you can explain how these _primitives_ unlocked the majesty and mystery of trigonometry," Flynn said nastily, gesturing around him, "engineering centuries ahead of their time" -

\- "They reached past themselves,"Clara said, her voice cracking, "and touched the divine." And with that, she turned and left, leaving Flynn alone with his fractured thoughts.

 _I found solace in the strangest place_  
 _Way in the back of my mind_  
 _I saw my life in a stranger's face_  
 _And it was mine..._

* * *

"Isn't it perfection?" Flynn said, startling Clara, who had been surveying the Pyramid with some scorn.

"Back off, butthead," Clara said, flicking the brim of his safari style hat, which Flynn was now self-consciously sporting, "or I'll call for security."

"That promotion is _mine_ ," Flynn said pettishly, before taking off, scampering through the crowd of students like an overgrown Labrador.

"Bloody _hell_ ," Clara muttered, before following him, knowing she only had herself to blame. She had to set aside all personal feelings, putting the mission first and making sure Flynn attended the interview, instead of throwing hissy fits as soon as she saw his face. But it would be easier said than done, and in that moment, she wasn't sure she could do this after all.

"I want to thank you all for a great semester," a bespectacled man with a clipboard tucked under his arm intoned loudly, silencing the students, Clara coming to a stop, seeing Flynn at the front of the crowd, trying to high-five people who just ignored him. "Despite what the naysayers have been spouting," the bespectacled man continued pompously, Flynn booing loudly and rather immaturely, making those closest to him wince, "we will show for the first time, at perfect one twentieth scale, using real Pyramid stones, exactly what the Great Pyramid looked like, complete with its missing capstone."

Everybody started applauding, Clara clapping along, trying to blend in. The bespectacled man just smiled and nodded, before bowing his farewell. As he turned and left, Flynn followed him, Clara watching, noticing how the bespectacled man seemed to speed up, feigning not to hear Flynn's pretentious calls of _Professor!_ But the bespectacled man reluctantly then came to a stop, turning to face Flynn, resulting in an abrupt discourse that ended with the bespectacled man shouting at Flynn, his voice ringing around the auditorium, making everyone stare.

He then turned and stalked away, leaving Flynn standing on his own, utterly shellshocked, Clara standing there in turn, her fists clenching by her sides, knowing without knowing that this was the moment that had nearly broken Flynn into fragments. During the dawns, where they would lie in her bed, Clara wrapped in Flynn's arms, he would sometimes tell her stories of his adventures, never telling her of his life before he became the Librarian, only mentioning there had been once been a moment that had nearly ended everything.

Clara watched as Flynn slowly took off his safari hat and jacket, dumping them in an urn, giving his dashed dreams one last glance before turning and leaving, his shoulders hunching as he went, the sight cutting Clara to the heart. But just as she made to go after him, she froze, her gaze being drawn upwards almost against her will, to where a shadowed figure stood on the balcony, watching her as she watched him. And then he was gone, a ghost fading into the shadows.


	2. Loaded Dice

**Loaded Dice**

Clara took a deep breath, before ringing the doorbell, glancing around her for any potential enemies, Eve's extensive training kicking in. Several seconds later, there was the sound of soft footsteps, then the door being unlocked, before finally creaking open, only to reveal Flynn's mother, the sight making Clara freeze.

"Can I help you?" Margie Carsen asked, brow furrowing, looking at Clara as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head.

Clara recovered herself, trying to make sure her story was straight, feeling like she was on her last legs. "I'm a friend of Flynn's," she said, her words instantly making Margie straighten up, face suspicious, "he left his hat and jacket behind – I thought I would bring them round." Clara forced a smile on her face, knowing she had royally screwed up in some way, her fingers clutching the safari hat and jacket for almost dear life.

"Left them behind where?"

"At that apoplexy provoking spectacle that is meant to be the Great Pyramid," Clara snapped, suddenly losing all self-control, "now may I come in or do I have to stand here all night?"

"But Flynn doesn't have any friends," Margie said in disbelief.

"He has me," Clara said smartly, "and I would _absolutely_ adore a cup of tea."

Margie took a startled step back, Clara seizing her chance and stepping inside. As Margie locked the door behind her, Clara turned on the spot, surveying the cosy surroundings of the Carsen household, curiosity getting the better of her, knowing so little of Flynn's former life. "Flynn's in his room," Margie said uneasily, twisting her hands together, "he's a little out of sorts."

Clara just nodded, studying Margie for a moment, taking in her dyed blonde hair and elegant bearing. Margie studied Clara in turn, seeing past the pretty face and to the storm within. "I've always wanted to meet you," Clara said suddenly, startling Margie, "I... I'm just glad I had this chance." Impulsively, she held out her hand to Margie who took it, slightly dazed as if in a dream, the living looking upon the dead, and then Clara let go with a strangely sad smile, letting go of all Flynn had lost.

"I'll bring the tea up," Margie said, not quite sure what was happening, but somehow understanding all the same.

* * *

 _Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start_ _  
_ _And I bet that you exploded in my heart_ _  
_ _And I forget, I forget the movie song_ _  
_ _When you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?_

"Come in," Flynn called out in response to the knock on his door, only to do a double-take at seeing Clara standing in the doorway, her face uncertain. "What in the name of Long John's long johns are you doing here!?" he exclaimed, slamming down his book.

"And what in the name of Persephone's pomegranate seeds is your problem?" Clara retorted, closing the door behind her.

"My problem is you!"

"Well, you better get used to it," Clara said tiredly, setting down his hat and jacket on the dresser, "and do you have any chocolate biscuits stashed away? I'm _starving_."

"How do you know I conceal confectionery?" Flynn asked shiftily, eyes suspicious. "And how do you know where I live?"

"A lucky guess," Clara lied, having pilfered Flynn's secret biscuit stashes back at the Annex many a time during his long absences, "and you have these adorable little name tags on your hat and jacket" -

\- "Why are you really here?" Flynn snapped, snatching up his bedside lamp. "And don't say it's for my manly body" -

\- "I really am very hungry," Clara cut across him, her stomach rumbling on cue, "and I'm rather cold as well."

Flynn just looked at her as if she was mad, before thankfully putting down the bedside lamp and pulling out a packet of chocolate cookies from a drawer. He threw them at Clara, who caught them, before also chucking a blue and white checked shirt in her direction, half wondering at himself for giving way.

"Thanks," Clara said gratefully, putting it on before ripping open the biscuit packet.

"Is my mother behind this?" Flynn asked, trying to find the sting in her tail. "Are you another one of those mad dates she keeps trying to set me up on?"

Clara shook her head, her cheeks bulging with biscuit, giving her the look of a demented hamster.

"Is it because of the promotion?" Flynn hazarded, eyes narrowing. "Because I'm now out of the game for that particular gig" -

\- "I'm on a sabbatical," Clara lied again, swallowing the last of her biscuit, "so don't worry about me trying to steal your academic thunder."

Flynn just scoffed at this, making Clara look sharply at him, studying his face all over again, trying to find the changes time would wrought. "Why do you keep doing that?" he asked suddenly, startling her.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like... like you know me."

"I don't."

"Know me or that you look at me like you know me?"

"Neither."

"Then why are you doing it?"

Clara bit her lip, struggling to hold it together. "I – I have nowhere to go," she suddenly said in a rush, startling Flynn this time, "being literally light-years from home" -

\- "God, I knew you were nuts!" Flynn exclaimed, getting up from the bed. "So no, I am not going to give you a roof over your head! Sort out your own student accommodation" -

\- "God, where's your sense of chivalry!?"

"It went out with the Ark," Flynn snapped, "along with you! Now scoot!" He grabbed her wrist, only for Clara to suddenly burst into terrible tears, her facade finally cracking. She'd just been to hell and back, and now she was here, unable to bear the burden that had been dumped upon her shoulders, duelling with destiny without Eve and the others by her side. Flynn let go of her, taken aback. "Here," he said awkwardly, handing her a crumpled but clean blue hanky, "take – take this."

"I'th thorry," Clara apologized, blowing her nose rather like a trumpet, "it'th been a _very_ long day."

"Well, that makes two of us," Flynn said uneasily, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "welcome to the jungle."

* * *

When Margie brought up the tea, it was only to find Clara and Flynn sitting side-by-side on his bed, the air thick with tension, Clara hugging her knees to herself, Flynn firing almost fearful glances in her direction every two seconds, not understanding what the hell was going on.

"Everything alright?" Margie asked, setting the tea-tray down on the bed-side cabinet, eying Clara with blatant curiosity.

"Just dandy," Flynn mumbled, picking up one of his precious books, "completely corking."

Clara poured herself some tea, her hands shaking slightly, the shock still hitting her over what had occurred in the Library. She and Flynn were finished; he had lied to her out of love, and love had led her here, yet neither one of them had said those fatal three words, the ghost of Guinevere dividing them. Yet Guinevere was gone now, and so was what they had, but here she was, with Flynn, a conundrum of Claraesque proportions.

"More books?" Margie said, gesturing to the box by the bed, recalling Flynn coming back with it earlier on, spectacularly announcing his entrance by tripping over, almost landing flat on his face.

"You went on a book binge?" Clara asked before she could stop herself, making Flynn look sharply at her. During Flynn's fly-by-visits, they would sometimes go on what Clara called book binges, blowing a small fortune on the printed word.

"Yeah, I did," Flynn said slowly, "and it concerns you how?"

"You know, we were never properly introduced," Margie hastily cut in, turning to Clara, "I'm Margie Carsen." She held out her hand again, Clara hesitating before taking it, Margie smiling encouragingly at her.

"I'm Clara," she said, her voice cracking slightly, "Clara Hartley."

"What a pretty name for a pretty girl," Margie said, talking to Clara like a two year old, "and Clara Carsen has quite _the_ ring to it" -

\- "Mom!" Flynn snapped.

"I'm just joking," Margie said, rolling her eyes, "but is it wrong for me to want you to find love?"

"I have love," Flynn said, gesturing to his books, "this is all the love I need."

Clara just sat there, listening to his lunacy, forcing herself not to punch Flynn in the face for all he was about to do, Margie glancing at her in concern.

"Sorry," the older woman apologized to Clara, thinking her ire was aimed at her, "I'm quite the frustrated matchmaker. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century."

Clara forced herself to smile, before taking a sip of tea, Flynn flicking through his beloved book, face still thunderous.

"Aristotle, Voltaire..." he argued angrily, "these books are slices of the ultimate truth. How can love compare to that?"

"It can't keep you warm during the night," Margie said, amused against her will, "or look after you when you're ill."

"They fuel the fires of intellectual inspiration," Flynn flared up. "These books _speak_ to me, Mom."

"They speak to you?" Clara said, clearing her throat.

Flynn turned to her, his dark gaze searching her face, making Clara's treacherous heart beat erratically. "Like nothing else," he said reverently, thinking he was finally getting through her thick skull.

"Do... do they tell you to do bad things?" Clara continued, exchanging a surprisingly conspiratorial look with Margie, seizing the opportunity to get back at Flynn. "Do they tell you to set fires?"

Flynn just looked at her, before sighing heavily and shaking his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and heading for the door. "If anyone's nuts around here, it's you, Hartley," he said, jabbing his finger in her direction, "sure as sin, it's you."

"Don't listen to the books if they tell you to indulge in arson, Carsen," Clara yelled after him, slamming her teacup down, "not unless you're bloody inside the building when it burns down!"


	3. She's Not Me

**Author's Note:** In response to **Fanficqueen306** , yeah, Clara's bitten off more than she can chew. Also there's the whole full circle theme going on, where the past will influence her present.

* * *

 **She's Not Me**

 _Does she know I'm tattooed onto your heart?_ _  
_ _You can try to fight it._ _  
_ _I have left my mark on you_ _  
_ _There is nothing you can do..._

Clara carefully carried the tea-tray down the stairs, having finished off the tea and most of Flynn's biscuit stash, the idea of duelling with destiny not so daunting now thanks to having a full stomach. She had just reached the bottom when Margie came rushing round the corner, wringing her hands, only to stop at seeing Clara. Without a word, she frantically beckoned Clara into the kitchen, Clara following, more or less mystified, not sure what was going on.

"Sorry," Margie said, taking the tray from Clara, "it's just I've got a guest in – a potential girlfriend for Flynn actually" -

\- "Excuse me!?" Clara snapped, forgetting herself, startling Margie. "Girlfriend!?"

"She's the daughter of one of my friends," Margie explained tersely, taken aback at Clara's virulent reaction, contradicting Clara's earlier apparent annoyance, "I always thought she and Flynn would look good together, and they do, so I don't want you walking in on them, giving the wrong impression."

"I'll just wait upstairs then," Clara said coldly, knowing she would do no such thing.

"Be a good girl and do that," Margie said, her froideur fading, "I'll bring up some more tea." She patted Clara's hand, before turning and bustling around the kitchen, Clara completely losing the plot and stalking into the living room, pulling her hair out of her ponytail as she moved.

Flynn studied his supposed date, the dread rising, awkwardness beginning as ever to paralyze him. "Do you" - he began nervously, only to do a double-take at seeing Clara stalking through the doorway, tossing her dark hair back, the sight making him catch his breath. Hartley was... _hot_. Then he shook his head, mentally slapping himself into semblance, only for Clara to fling herself down into his lap and kiss all common sense out of him.

"O -o - okay," his supposed date stuttered, standing up, snatching her handbag from the table, "I'll – I'll just be on my way."

Nobody noticed her departure, time ticking on, taking Flynn's future with it. Then Clara suddenly shoved the shellshocked Flynn from her, before sliding off his lap, tucking her tousled hair behind her ears, looking deceptively demure. Flynn just stared at her, stunned, not quite believing what had just happened. Just then, Margie came in, the clatter of teacups making Flynn jump violently.

"Where did she go?" Margie asked, glancing around her, looking bewildered.

"I – I – I don't know," Flynn stuttered, stumbling to his feet, "she – she just went."

"She had a prior engagement," Clara said smartly, straightening the cuffs of Flynn's checked shirt.

Margie studied them both for a moment, noting Flynn's rumpled appearance and Clara's chaotic hair, all evidence of a wild embrace, before remembering the tension between Flynn and Clara as they sat side by side on his bed and Clara's crazy reaction in the kitchen to the news he had a date, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling together, Margie suddenly seeing that grandchildren might just be within her reach after all. "Oh well," she said, feigning disappointment, "maybe next time, hmm?"

"Mom, please don't do that again," Flynn said, trying not to look at Clara, "it's excruciatingly embarrassing."

"I just want my boy to find love," Margie challenged, just as careful not to glance at Clara, "is that so terrible?"

Flynn stared down at his feet. "I will," he said, his voice cracking, "one day... when it's right."

Clara dropped her demure demeanour, her eyes suddenly alight, recognizing the wistful edge to his voice, almost like he was _her_ Flynn, how he used to sound in their most sacred moments, when he would open the puzzle box that was his heart to her.

"The things that make life worth living," Margie said quietly, taking a step forwards towards Flynn, "they can't be thought here," she tapped the side of his head, "they must be _felt_ here." She placed her hand over his heart, her grey gaze silently asking him to understand, to know that it couldn't be learned, only lived.


	4. Paper Heart

**Paper Heart**

"What the hell was _that!?_ " Flynn hissed, rounding on Clara as she closed the door behind them.

 _That was my wake-up call,_ Clara thought bitterly, her tainted triumph at trumping Flynn's date out of a date now beginning to leave her. Flynn wasn't hers, not anymore, now or then. But to think of anyone else with Flynn was enough to send her spiralling into insanity again. In response to his question, she shrugged her shoulders, making Flynn childishly kick the wall.

"You are completely cuckoo, you know that!?" Flynn snapped, rumpling up his hair afresh with agitated fingers. "Doollally!"

Clara just shook her head before going over to Flynn's bed and throwing herself down on it, curling up into a ball.

"Hey," Flynn protested, "you can't sleep in my bed!"

Clara just rolled onto her other side, turning her back on him, completely ignoring his admonishments. Flynn stared at her, the heat creeping up the back of his neck. This was breaking new ground, ground he wasn't sure he wanted to break. A girl in his bed in his room? Sweating now, he snatched up some paper and his favourite packet of felt pens, before seeking the shelter he found in the shadows of his bookcases, kneeling down on the ground and retreating back into his boyhood habit of scribbling into creation his imaginary adventures with his father, childishly illustrating his words with stick figures and sword fights, losing himself in a lost world.

 _Pictures I'm living through for now_  
 _Trying to remember all the good times_  
 _Our life was cutting through so loud_  
 _Memories are playing in my dull mind..._

* * *

Day became dawn, Flynn getting up now and again to go to the bathroom or to stuff himself with stuffed mushrooms, before breaking into his banana stash just as the sun began to rise. At some point he'd covered Clara up with the duvet, studying her face for a long moment, trying to understand only to find he couldn't. So he started drawing again, not wanting to face his future, finding peace in a paper past instead.

"What are you doing?" Clara asked over his shoulder, startling him.

"Nothing," Flynn said hastily, trying to cover up his latest creation, his hands shaking from lack of sleep.

"It's not nothing," Clara said, sitting down beside him, "it's obviously something."

Flynn stared at her, taking in her pale face and lank hair, noticing how she was still wearing his increasingly crumpled clothes. For a moment he saw himself in her, both trying to bear a burden they couldn't carry, and almost against his will, he removed his hands from the pile of paper, his shoulders hunching slightly.

"Oh," Clara said quietly, recognizing the littlest stick figure by his messy dark hair. "It's you," she said, smiling slightly, pointing to it.

Seeing she wasn't mocking him, Flynn pulled out one of the pages from the bottom, starting to lose his self-consciousness. "This is me in the Caves of Complete Doom," he said pompously, showing her his stick self brandishing a bow, "just before I defeat the Darkness, piercing its heinous heart with a poisoned arrow."

"Who's that?" Clara said, pointing to a taller stick figure standing in the cave entrance, perusing what appeared to be a scroll.

"My – my dad," Flynn said, suddenly snatching up his drawings, "and he's none of your beeswax."

"Flynn" - Clara said brokenly, but Flynn just stumbled to his feet, shoving his pens and paper in a drawer before throwing himself down on the ground again, his back hitting bookcase, only to set off an avalanche of books, their spines striking him like spears.

"What the hell!?" Flynn yelled, throwing his arms over his head.

"Oh my God!" Clara exclaimed, catching sight of a familiar white envelope amongst the deluge.

"What is it?" Flynn asked, startled.

Clara frantically pointed at the envelope, dark eyes suddenly demented, completely confirming Flynn's theory she was as bats as a teatray in the sky.

"Okay, okay," Flynn muttered, lowering his arms and reaching for the envelope. As he opened it, becoming increasingly baffled, he pulled out a sheet of crisp white parchment, only for it to suddenly glow gold, slanting script appearing on it as though written by an invisible hand. Flynn dropped the letter like it was a hot coal, eyes widening in shock, Clara snatching up the letter she should have received at seventeen, holding her own future in her hands.

"You have been selected to interview for a prestigious position with the Metropolitan Public Library," Clara read aloud, making Flynn's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "You have to attend this interview," she said firmly, turning to him, "it's imperative."

"Hold your horses," Flynn flared up, "I am done with the academic domain."

"Well, it's not done with you" -

\- "Yeah, it is," Flynn snapped, staggering to his feet, "so stick that in your pipe and smoke it."

"You can't let that professor ruin your life," Clara said, making Flynn freeze, "so just... don't."

Flynn studied her for a long moment, his stare making Clara feel like her soul was being scorched. "Why are you here, Hartley?" he said slowly, advancing on her. "My whole world implodes and you show up" -

\- "What exactly did he do?" Clara said, getting to her own feet, still clutching the letter from the Library. "What did he say that made you" -

\- "Made me what?"

"Made you give up," Clara said, her voice cracking.

Flynn's lower lip trembled. "He kicked me off the course," he said, his own voice cracking, "all but barring me from the university. He said I had to stop studying and start living, but that is my _life."_ He angrily dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, hating himself for being so weak.

Clara bit her lip, not sure what to say.

"I like living this way," Flynn cried, gesturing wildly around him, "Spiderman pyjamas and all. I live with my mother and sleep with the light on. I stuff myself with sherbets and watch Jane Austen serials on Sunday mornings. I dress up as Wolverine in my spare time. I live to learn, to read and think and study. This is my comfort zone, what I'm used to. But now that's gone" -

\- "It doesn't have to be," Clara said, shaking her head, thinking of the Flynn with his receding hairline and spectacles who'd faded from her, who this Flynn would become, "you can still live this life but just in a bigger way" -

\- "It's my choice" -

\- "And it's one you'll regret," Clara snapped, rounding on him, remembering -

 _\- "You... you made your choice, Flynn," Clara said, unwillingly allowing herself to be side-tracked. "You know what you wanted, and you made your decision based on that."_

 _"But maybe I should have chosen differently," Flynn said, taking his spectacles off, "at least it would have been a life of choice, not a life of safety, spent alone, on the sidelines" -_

"I know myself, what I'm good at," Flynn raved, ripping Clara out of her reverie.

"And you'll be amazing at this," Clara cried, feeling the future beginning to slip through her fingers like sand, " _I_ know that."

Flynn just stared at her, suddenly looking like the little boy he'd been, lost and alone.

"These paper worlds you build," Clara said quietly, taking his hands in hers, securing Flynn's unspoken surrender, "you can make them real. You can make them _breathe_. That life will _live_."

* * *

Clara smoothed down her black and white plaid mini-skirt self-consciously, feeling like a Nineties throwback, _Clueless_ calling. She wore a frilly white blouse teamed with a black cardigan, her shining black brogues paired with black knee-high socks, the ensemble finished off with a jaunty black box jacket. Her dark hair was held back off her face with a black Alice band, the sight of her so making Margie clasp her hands together with joy, Flynn rolling his eyes before resuming stuffing what remained of lunch down his gullet.

It made Clara very uncomfortable to be reliant on Flynn for a roof over her head and food to fill her stomach, not to mention the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet. She'd confessed to him that morning she was practically destitute, asking him for help through gritted teeth, but to her surprise, he didn't seem bothered about it, shoving a wad of creased dollar bills into her hand, before retreating back into his books, casting the letter from the Library suspicious glances from time to time. The whole set-up reminded Clara of when she first met Flynn, relying on his largesse to live, until he gave in and gave her a job, Clara realising in bitter hindsight it had never been a real job, Flynn only humouring her.

But the memory didn't stop Clara from making lunch for the three of them and cleaning up afterwards, before hoovering the house from top to bottom, Margie stopping her from washing all the floors, taken aback at Clara's extreme enthusiasm for housework. Now she was here, hovering around the dinner table, waiting for Flynn to finish up so she could wash his plate and cutlery, Margie getting ready to interfere again.

"I can get that," Margie began, only for Clara to quell her into silence with a death-stare. While she was here, she would work, and that was that. Nobody was covering her expenses, so she had to make up the difference somehow, not being a free-loader.

"You're a good cook, Clara," Flynn said through a mouthful of pecan pie, "I'll say that for you."

Clara just looked at him, remembering how he'd made her live off Christmas puddings.

"We live in the heart of one of the city's best shopping districts," Margie said, glancing with approval at Clara's outfit again, unaware Flynn's money had paid for it, thinking Clara had gone home to get changed, "so maybe we can have a girl's day out together some time, hmmm?"

"Mom, Clara's not my girlfriend," Flynn protested, making Margie roll her eyes. If Clara was kissing her son and sleeping in his bed, that made her his girlfriend in her book. Flynn had made sure to leave his bedroom door open, Margie making several unnecessary trips past his room, slightly confused at seeing Clara snoring for England and Flynn on the floor colouring in, but she'd concluded they were just as bizarre as each other, making them a match made in heaven.

"That would be nice," Clara said to Margie, ignoring Flynn's outburst, whilst enjoying annoying him further.

"Good," Margie beamed, "now let me get that plate." Before Clara could react, Margie had swiped Flynn's plate and cutlery, taking his cup for good measure.

Flynn got up out of his seat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, before tripping and stumbling out of the kitchen, Clara following him. As soon they reached his room, Flynn whirled around, slamming the door shut behind him, making Clara cringe against the wall. He took a step back, startled, suddenly ashamed of his aggression. "I'm sorry," he said hastily, holding his hands up, "I'm – I'm not going to hurt you – I – I'm just having a _really_ bad day and you're _really_ not helping."

Again, Clara just looked at him, putting herself in Flynn's shoes. His carefully constructed world had been crushed, and now he was saddled with a stranger, one he was feeding and clothing at his own expense against his will, not having the heart to turf her out of his house. To all intents and purposes she was playing him for a fool. "I can leave," Clara choked out, her words going against every reason as to why she was here, "you don't have to put up with me."

Flynn sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his head between his hands, tempted to take her up on his offer. With Clara gone, he could rip up the letter from the Library and try to rebuild his broken world. But he remembered how she smiled when she looked at his drawings, looking like she actually understood, and he hesitated. "No," he said slowly, glancing up at her, "you... you can stay here."

Clara's shoulders slumped, the terrible relief etched in her eyes making his heart twist in his chest. Flynn studied her for a long moment, standing there so prim and proper, suddenly unable to stomach the idea of throwing someone like her out on the street. Even though he lived in a world of books, he knew enough to know someone like Clara would eaten alive, completely underestimating Clara. Yet at the same time it was an insane undertaking, Clara could be a crazed killer, but then again, Flynn had never been quite the full shilling either.

"Look, I don't know what the hell is happening," Flynn said, straightening up, "who you are or why I'm getting magical letters, but we need to lay down some ground rules. No more m-m-making out and no more making out to my mother you're my girlfriend" -

\- "It's an issue of strategy," Clara said coldly, "it makes it easier for me to be here if your mother thinks we're together. It'll also stop her trying to set up you with frankly unsuitable females. Plus, for the whole time I'm under your roof, using your resources, I'll cook for you both, and I'll help out around the house. I'm not going to take something for nothing."

Flynn thought about it for a moment, before nodding his head, seeing no other option but to agree. What else had he to lose anyways? "You're leaving?" he said, the prospect making his heart sink strangely.

"At some point," Clara said carefully, thinking if everything worked out, she might be out of here sooner than she thought, "but until then, I'm... here."

"And why are you here, Hartley?" Flynn reiterated, getting to his feet. "It's do with that possessed piece of parchment, isn't it?"

Clara cast her gaze down to the ground, her silence more telling than words.

"You know what," Flynn said, flinging up his hands up in the air, "don't tell me. Let's just leave it in the laps of the gods, shall we?"


	5. Perchance

**Author's Note:** In response to **Fanficqueen306,** yeah Flynn's different here, he doesn't know what's he capable of yet. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

* * *

 **Perchance**

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Flynn muttered as Clara straightened his tie to her own specifications, enduring her ministrations with apparent equanimity, becoming rapidly and reluctantly used to Clara treating him like her especial property.

"Well, you are," Clara said firmly, taking a step back to appraise her handiwork. With the threat of being flung out onto the street removed from the equation, and Flynn on his way to the interview, Clara had now completely regained her usually controlling composure. The only thing undermining her own equanimity was the fact she and Flynn had now fallen into a rocky routine, one that made her uncomfortable, existing somewhere between enemies and allies.

"Mom said you were a keeper," Flynn said acerbically, recalling Margie's astonished face when Clara announced Flynn had an interview with a leading educational establishment, Margie completely holding Clara responsible for this miracle of Flynn taking his first footsteps into the real world. She had then rushed off to sort out his best suit, Flynn retreating to his room, Clara taking herself off to clean the kitchen again.

"Somebody has to keep you in line," Clara said just as acerbically, softening his severe side-parting with her fingers, "and it might as well be me."

"Who died and made you dictator?" Flynn flared up, jerking his head away. "You're not the boss of me!"

"If you're still angry about that kiss, don't be," Clara said smartly, dusting down his suit sleeves, "I won't be repeating the experience. It was a once in a life-time event." But the falsehood sat ill on her lips, Clara knowing full well that she was lying about lying in wait for Flynn, all that was yet to occur.

"It better be," Flynn blustered, "not all men enjoy being mauled" -

Clara clamped her hand over his mouth, silencing him. Flynn narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anymore, reluctantly allowing Clara to link her arm through his, before heading in the general direction of the Metropolitan Library. As they crossed the courtyard, Flynn tripped and stumbled the whole way, nearly taking Clara and several strangers down with him, including a bespectacled schoolboy with neatly side-parted hair and spectacles, his blazer alarmingly ironed to within an inch of its life.

"I'm so sorry," Flynn apologized as the schoolboy edged away from him, "it's my nerves" -

\- "Hey!" Clara suddenly cried, lunging forwards, grabbing the boy's ear. "Show me your hands!"

"You're insane, lady!" the schoolboy screeched, struggling to escape, Flynn's hand flying to his mouth in horror at seeing Clara manhandle a minor like he was a common criminal. "Let me go!"

Ignoring his protests, Clara rifled through his blazer pockets, unearthing Flynn's wallet and a motley collection of items that couldn't possibly belong to the average schoolboy. "Is it your time of the month perchance?" she said sarcastically, waving a packet of tampons in front of his face, making the schoolboy blush hotly.

"I was in a rush, okay?" the schoolboy snapped. "Hit and run. I just grab what I can."

"Well, hit and run somewhere else, sunshine," Clara said, shoving him away, throwing Flynn his wallet, dumping everything else onto a passing security guard, startling him.

Dragging a protesting Flynn onwards, Clara finally allowed herself to breathe, her encounter with the teenage Ezekiel reassuring and rattling her all at once. First Jacob, now Ezekiel. In some strange way they were all still with her. Yet as they approached the imposing Metropolitan Library, Clara uneasily wondered at how easy this was all proving to be, escorting Flynn to his interview, letting fate do the rest, so boom she would be back through the back door, her life her own again. There had to be a catch in it somewhere, but Clara couldn't quite catch the catch, keeping a weather eye out for it all the same.

Five minutes later, they were facing a long and winding line of other prospective Librarians that spanned an entire elaborately embellished spiralling staircase, the queue traversing several floors, Flynn's face paling at the sight. Clara tightened her grip on his arm, not allowing him the opportunity to escape. She had got him here so far, so Satan could sell saltine crackers instead of souls before she let Flynn quit at the starting line. She forced him to join the end of the queue, the two of them standing on the bottom step, Flynn clutching his folder for dear life, looking like he was going to faint.

Time ticked past, the queue moving slowly, Clara lolling against Flynn, her arm still tucked through his. Flynn glanced down at her, uncomfortably aware of how close she was, her hair smelling strangely of summer, falling over her shoulders like a dark curtain.

"You alright?" Clara asked curiously, glancing up at him.

"I am perfectly capable of standing in a queue on my own, thank you very much," Flynn said stiffly, "so you can go and catch a coffee or whatever beverage you British barbarians drink. I'll be okay on my own."

"I'm staying put, sunshine," Clara said through gritted teeth, before suddenly burying her face in Flynn's shoulder, startling him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned against his will.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Clara lied, raising her head, struggling to control her emotions. She was with Flynn and she wasn't, the contradictions playing havoc with her heart.

"We're almost at the top," Flynn said, hastily changing the subject.

Clara just nodded, before huddling closer to Flynn, all she didn't have left.

 _Oh, all that I know_ _  
_ _There's nothing here to run from_ _  
_ _Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on…_


	6. A Meeting of Minds

**Author's Note:** In response to **Fanficqueen306** , I'll probably write the other two films at some point but it would probably be as spin-offs, as I don't know how to slot them into the current narrative. This story fits in with the overreaching arc, so any stories would probably need to be standalones. I have written a Jassandra one-shot called _Call It Magic, Call It True_ , that features Flynn and mentions Clara. It can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.

* * *

 **A Meeting of Minds**

 _Heaven only knows where the stories are going to stop…_

"Clara Hartley!"

Clara started violently at the sound of her name, looking around her in bewilderment, Flynn doing the same, completely clueless.

"Clara Hartley, get your English ass in here!"

"I think they're talking to you," Flynn said, making the obvious even more obvious, wincing at the sheer volume of the voice.

"You – you wait here," Clara said hastily, sensing a spanner named Charlene in the works, "don't go anywhere until I come back."

Flynn nodded, Clara nodding back, before nervously approaching the interview room, not exactly overjoyed at the prospect of facing Charlene again. She entered an imposing entrance hall that looked like the bastard offspring of Versailles and the set of an Adam Ant music video, only to see Charlene sitting behind a seventeenth century French walnut four column refectory table, her hands folded in front of her, overplucked eyebrows raised questioningly in Clara's direction.

"Hello," Clara said, approaching Charlene like she would a wild animal, "I - I think there's been an error" -

\- "Clara Hartley is a seventeen year old schoolgirl," Charlene snapped, glancing down at the sheave of parchment on the table, "yet here you stand before me at the height of your womanhood. What's the story, sweetheart?"

But before Clara could frame a suitable answer, the doors suddenly slammed shut behind her, a breeze shooting through the room, rippling the red velvet curtains and Clara's hair. The chair set out for suitable candidates to sit on span to the other side of the room, finding its final place in front of a wood-panelled wall, the sheave of parchment disappearing in a puff of smoke, making Charlene start violently.

"What the devil..." Charlene breathed, before hastily smoothing down her hair, and surveying Clara over steepled fingers. "Well, it looks like the Library has chosen," she said, looking insulted at the idea, "you're our new Librarian, Clara Hartley."

* * *

"I'm not the Librarian," Clara said, wringing her hands, "I mean, I am a Librarian, or I was, but I'm not _the_ Librarian."

"We only have one Librarian at a time," Charlene said, standing up, "and now that happens to be you."

"You don't understand," Clara snapped, struggling to keep calm, " _the_ Librarian is out there!" She jabbed a manicured finger in the direction of the doors, making Charlene roll her eyes at Clara's histrionics.

" _The_ Librarian is standing right in front of me," Charlene snapped back, snatching up her handbag, "now hop to it, kid - it's been a long day and we have a lot of work to do."

"I want to speak to Judson," Clara demanded, clutching at straws, startling Charlene, "he'll understand even if you don't."

"Will I?" Judson said, walking through a wall.

Heart beating like a bongo drum, Clara just stood there, staring at him, before suddenly launching herself into his arms, throwing her own around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

"You know a simple hello would have sufficed," Judson said gently, detaching himself with some difficulty, "I'm not above the humble greeting."

"I'm not _the_ Librarian," Clara said in a rush, her eyes wild, "Flynn Carsen is _the_ Librarian" -

\- "I know," Judson said, startling her this time, "but the Library seems to have chosen you."

"It's not time yet!" Clara yelled up at the ceiling. "You're too early! Ten years early to be precise!"

"You sure you're not the Librarian?" Charlene said, raising her eyebrows again, remembering how every Librarian she'd ever encountered had developed the bad habit of hollering at walls and ceilings, addressing flat surfaces as if they were foes.

"Look, I know why the Library wants me," Clara said, rounding on Judson, "that it will spend the next ten years trying to track me down. My seventeen year old self is out there somewhere right at this minute, my father murdered by my mother, my whole life a lie, the Library sending me a letter I will never receive. But all that is a story for another time" -

\- "The Library hears but it doesn't listen," Judson said tiredly, "so your words are wasted" -

\- "Oh really?" Clara snapped, before marching over to the double doors, ready to fling them open and admit Flynn entrance, only find they were locked shut. "Bloody hell!" she screeched, rattling the ornate doorhandles like maracas. "Let me out!" she screamed, making Judson wince, Charlene's eyebrows now climbing up her forehead.

"Clara?" Flynn exclaimed from the other side of the doors. "What the hell is going on!?"

"I can't get out!" Clara cried, completely losing her head. "They won't let me go!"

"Don't worry, I'll save you!" Flynn bellowed, completely losing his own head, unable to save a codfish never mind Clara. As he rushed the doors, they suddenly flew open, an invisible force shoving Clara aside, Flynn falling over his feet, spectacularly performing a face-plant.

"This acrobat is meant to be the Librarian?" Charlene scoffed. "God help us."

* * *

Flynn sat in the middle of the room, his leg ticcing, clutching his folder for dear life. He had taken so long to sit down, his backside hovering like a helium balloon, that Charlene had suggested taking a siesta while they waited, making him suddenly take a seat. Clara was by the window, Judson having faded into the ether during the fracas. Charlene was now seated behind the table again, glancing nervously around her, not sure what was going to happen next. But Clara surprisingly seemed to have the Library on a leash, so Charlene dared to open the interview with an insult, narrowing her eyes at Flynn as she spoke.

"Corduroy went out with the Bay City Rollers, buddy," she said, gesturing to his suit, "so I can see you won't be saving the world with your sense of style, that's for sure."

"Don't you mean plaid?" Flynn said nervously, reluctantly remembering the Bay City Rollers from his mother's record collection, their tartan turn-out hard to forget in a hurry.

"Don't start getting smart with me, sonny boy," Charlene retorted, "I don't know what the hell is going on, but your broad says you're _the_ Librarian, so show us shucks what you got."

"I'm the _what?_ " Flynn said incredulously, glancing at Clara, who was hopping from one foot to the other in frustration.

"Show me!"

Flynn cleared his throat, trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back, only to drop his folder. "Uh," he began, abandoning all efforts to retrieve it to study Charlene instead, nearly going cross-eyed with the effort, "you have mononucleosis, your marriage broke up two months ago, you broke your nose when you were four and you live with three cats. Is that what you had in mind?"

Charlene just stared at him, shellshocked.

"Swollen parajugular lymph nodes," Flynn said, indicating his neck and eyes, "distended eyelids are clearly mono. It takes about three months for an indentation on the ring finger to completely disappear – yours is approximately two thirds gone and your plastic surgeon gave you a terminus paralateral scar, which is usually given only to children under the age of six, plus I can clearly see three distinctive types of cat hair, a white Himalayan, a tortoiseshell and an orange-striped tabby."

Clara exhaled sharply, not realising she had been holding her breath.

"I didn't break my nose until I was five," Charlene said stiffly, only to jump as Judson's voice echoed around the entrance hall.

"What is more important than knowledge?" Judson intoned mystically, making Clara roll her eyes.

Flynn turned wildly on the spot, trying to locate the source of the voice, having a Wizard of Oz moment. "The things that make life worth living," he said nervously, glancing at Clara as he spoke, "can't be thought here," he tapped the side of his head, remembering his mother's voice, giving his own one strength, "and must be felt... here?" He placed his hand over his heart almost hopefully, making Charlene's lips curl downwards.

Judson walked through the wall again, applauding Flynn's answer, making Flynn nearly fall down in shock, Charlene standing up, glancing up at the ceiling almost nervously, as if in expectation it would fall down. The chair span across the room again, Flynn leaping back like a scalded cat, a playful tug of wind pulling on Clara's hair, making her whisper 'thank you' to the empty air, knowing that the Library _had_ listened this time.


	7. Something Like That

**Author's Note:** In response to **Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967** and **BaDWolF89** , thank you for your kind reviews.

* * *

 **Something Like That**

 _And I try to refrain but you're stuck in my brain_ _  
_ _And all I do is cry and complain because second's not the same…_

As Clara paced the floor, hands folded behind her back, Flynn glanced around the gloomy ante-room, not quite sure what the hell was happening, his attention caught by a painting depicting several sheep engrossed in a high stakes card game, making him do a double-take, only for the one playing its ace to wink at him, startling Flynn out of his skin.

"Whagah!" he yelled, leaping backwards, crashing into Clara.

"Whagah what!?" Clara exclaimed, grabbing his arm.

"That sheep just winked at me!"

"Consider it a compliment," Judson said, manifesting from a Ming vase, rather like a genie.

"Do you have a problem with doors!?" Flynn protested, startled out of his skin for a second time.

"No, they have a problem with me," Judson said, turning to Clara. "Have you explained this exotic turn of events to Mr. Carsen, Clara?" he said, folding his hands before him.

Clara just stared at Judson, suddenly wondering how much he knew, and how he knew.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Flynn said, frowning.

"We will know each other," Judson smiled.

"Why didn't you tell me about all this?" Flynn said, rounding on Clara. "You could have given me a heads-up about the flirtatious flock for starters!"

"Don't imply I lied to you," Clara flared up, "because I didn't" -

\- "You damn well deceived me!"

"Hey, I never denied having any connection to the Library and the interview letter" -

\- "No, but you never admitted to it either" -

\- "Because _you_ said we should leave it in the lap of the gods" -

\- " _You_ said you were on a sabbatical" -

\- "What does it matter, Flynn?" Clara snapped. "You knew all along there was something not quite right, yet here we are. I gave you the chance to kick me to the kerb but you chose not to. Alright, I forced you to attend this interview, and I employed rather economical silences to your questions on occasion, but it was done for your own good."

"For the greater good," Judson chimed in, earning himself a glare.

"You could have just told me the stark truth from the start, Clara," Flynn said tiredly, "rather than execute your Jiminy Cricket impersonation, embroiling me in this frankly insane undertaking" -

\- "You wanted an adventure and I bloody gave you one," Clara spat, losing uncharacteristic control of herself.

"Did he really want an adventure?" Judson asked curiously. "Isn't he actually trying to _avoid_ an adventure?"

"Deep down, he wants an adventure," Clara said smartly, "all he needed was a little encouragement."

"More like a heck of a lot of hectoring," Flynn muttered.

"Would you have believed me if I told you from the start about the existence of a magical Library with winking sheep and talking teacups?" Clara demanded, rounding on Flynn this time. "No, you wouldn't have, so excuse me for the aforementioned economical silences. There's a time and a place for sentient swords and apocalyptic otters, and that was most certainly not the right moment to divulge such delightful chicanery."

"You stalked me!" Flynn snapped. "You followed me home!"

"Is any of this relevant anymore?" Judson interjected. "It's just we have a lot to do and _Neighbours_ starts soon."

Flynn just stuck his nose up in the air, Clara folding her arms across her chest, Judson surveying them both with a faintly amused attitude.

"Mr. Carsen," he said, forcing Flynn to face him, "you are about to begin a wondrous adventure from which you will never be the same. Do you think you can be that man?"

"The Librarian?" Flynn hazarded, intrigued despite himself.

"The very same," Judson said, inclining his head.

"Forgive me, but I'm finding it hard to wrap my head around this," Flynn said slowly, "I show up here after a shiny letter shows up at my house, I spout some piffle and then, whoom, I'm some super hero bibliophile?"

"Something like that," Judson said simply.


	8. Apocalyptic Otters & Talking Teacups

**Author's Note:** In response to **Fanficqueen306** , this story will be quite long, to incorporate my own scenes and the film itself. Afterwards, when I write the Season 2 stuff, each story will compromise of covering two episodes at a time, like the first story, _And She Was Not An Adventure_. I covered each episode individually for Season 1 to try and add more depth to Clara's character and for the overall arc.

I have started a new Flynn/OC story called _The Librarian & The Lady_ based on the TV series 'Hooten and the Lady'. It will also feature Ezekiel Jones in the ensemble. It can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my author's profile.

* * *

 **Apocalyptic Otters & Talking Teacups**

 _Oh, all that I know,_  
 _There's nothing here to run from..._

"I don't know about you but I was expecting a bit more of a fanfare," Flynn said to Clara as Judson led them to the lift.

"What, you want me to throw a ticker tape parade in your honour?" Clara retorted.

"No, I thought there would be more to this than just attending a job interview," Flynn flared up.

"We like to maintain a low profile," Judson said, gesturing for them to step forwards, "discretion is the better part of valour and so forth."

Clara just jabbed the button, acting on auto-pilot, Flynn's observation irking her underneath her apparent disinterest. There was a catch somewhere, and again, she couldn't quite catch the catch. She was still suspicious of Judson, of how much he knew, not understanding how he knew at all. It was all rather literally before his time, and the only obvious explanation was that magic was involved in some mystical way, nothing changing, then or now.

"Apocalyptic otters and talking teacups?" Flynn said suddenly, startling Clara.

"And don't forget the Christmas puddings," Judson said lightly, "I have quite the fondness for them. Such erudite afters, their patter perfect for the palate. "

"Oh, that was you, then?" Clara said sarcastically, remembering Flynn's penchant for Christmas puddings, how he'd made her live off them during her early tenure in the Library.

"The Christmas puddings can communicate?" Flynn burst out before Judson could frame a reply.

"They really are the dearest little things," Judson said evasively, "and here we are!" he exclaimed, as the lift doors juddered open, revealing the Library as Clara had never seen it before, even as it was curiously familiar at the same time.

"If we shadows have offended..." Flynn whispered his dark eyes becoming as big as dinner-plates, "...think but this... and all is mended. That we have but slumber'd here... whilst these visions did appear..."

"Ah, old Will," Judson reminisced, clapping his hands together, before leading the way.

Clara stepped forwards, her hands shaking slightly, recognizing a display case there, whilst recalling an artefact elsewhere, some exhibits not even acquired yet, everything a friend and a stranger all at once.

"The Ark of the Covenant?" Flynn breathed, circling one of the exhibits, Judson slapping his hand away as Flynn reverently reached for it.

"You'll turn into a toad if you touch it," Judson reprimanded, "so don't, not unless you fancy spending the rest of your days in my ornamental pond."

Flynn just swallowed hard, his eyes still wide with wonder, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Is it meant to do that?" Clara frowned, studying the Ark from all angles, trying to work out what was wrong with it, only seeing the usual setim wood and gold overlay.

"It passed through many hands before it came into our possession," Judson explained, eying the Ark with regret, "it's never been the same since."

"Where is the Emerald of Exon?" Clara then asked, brow furrowing further as she recalled Jenkins's story of how Judson had duelled with an ancient sorcerer for the stone in question, almost losing his ears along the way.

"It's here somewhere," Judson said vaguely. "It likes to stretch its legs once in a while."

"Are we on TV?" Flynn said in a strangely high voice. "Is this one of those hidden camera shows?"

"Mr. Carsen" -

\- "Just call me Flynn," Flynn laughed, nervously tugging on his tie, "Mr. Carsen makes me sound like a third grade science teacher."

"Flynn, you are going to be the protector of all this," Judson said sternly, "so the sooner you realise this isn't a practical joke, the better it will be for all concerned."

Flynn just nodded, swallowing hard again, Clara almost but not quite feeling sorry for him. As she went ahead, Flynn was just about to follow when he thought he heard someone whisper his name, sounding suspiciously like Clara, but slightly more seductive. Almost as if he was being reeled in like a fish, he was suddenly dragged in the direction of an ornate silver box, his hand reluctantly reaching for the box's lid, moving at its own accord, making to lift the lid -

"Don't!" Clara screamed, leaping up and grabbing his ear like she had Ezekiel's. "That's Pandora's box!"

"I really shouldn't leave that lying around," Judson murmured as Clara hauled Flynn out of harm's way.

"No, you really shouldn't," Clara snapped.


	9. First Rule

**First Rule**

"Behold Excalibur," Judson said quietly, folding his hands behind his back as the others stepped forth, the silence spinning out for a long moment, almost suffocating.

"It cannot be," Flynn breathed, falling to his knees, his hands clasped almost girlishly before him.

Clara stood there, staring at the Sword in the Stone he was prostrating himself in front of, the world rippling around her. She glanced down at her hands, only to see her fingers stained with blood -

\- "Clara," Judson said, grabbing her arm, "close the door on the past. It's over now."

She tore herself out of his grip, turning away as Judson turned to Flynn, who now had tears shining in his eyes, his boyhood obsession with Excalibur finally being fulfilled.

"Only the worthy can release the Sword from the Stone," Judson said to Flynn, glancing worriedly at Clara, "you can try it if you like."

"May I?" Flynn gasped, making to grab the hilt before thinking better of it. "No, no, no," he gabbled, wringing his hands, "I can't."

"Why not?" Judson said, brow furrowing.

"I'm... I'm not exactly worthy," Flynn said, shrinking into himself, "so let's just forget it, okay?" He cast Excalibur a last longing glance before striding ahead, Clara following him, her brogues bouncing across the floor.

"I think you are worthy," Judson called after him, making Flynn freeze, Clara almost crashing into him, "because this is your calling."

"What, I studied my whole life for this?" Flynn said sarcastically, twirling on the spot, reminding Clara of the future Flynn for a moment.

"Yes," Judson said firmly.

Flynn just shook his head before heading over to a large birdcage, peering between the bars at the angry goose squawking within, Clara keeping a careful distance, not liking the look of its beak.

"Flynn," Judson said almost angrily, "look at me."

Flynn picked up several golden eggs, juggling them, reverting back to his usual rebellious behaviour.

"Grow up," Clara snapped, "this isn't the circus."

"It certainly feels like it," Flynn snapped back, setting the golden eggs back down on their red velvet cushion, "and anyways, I for one can't wait to tell my mother about the hoo-ha here you hauled me all the way for" -

\- "Cal, no!" Clara screamed as Excalibur suddenly shot through the air, the edge of its blade against Flynn's throat, beginning to draw blood.

"Why are you doing the Limbo?" Judson asked Flynn curiously.

"Hello, flying sword!?" Flynn hissed, nearly bent backwards with trying to avoid the blade.

Before anybody could react, Clara grabbed Excalibur by the hilt, ripping it away from Flynn's throat, holding it aloft with some difficulty, the sword jerking violently in her hand. As she did, an overwhelming sense of relief hit her, like she'd finally faced the bogey-man under the bed, only to find empty air, her fear a figment of her imagination.

"There's nothing like facing your fears, is there?" Judson said lightly, taking Excalibur from her, giving voice to Clara's thoughts.

Clara looked at Judson for a long moment, holding his gaze, before turning to Flynn. "The first rule of the Library is: You do not talk about the Library. The second rule of the Library is: You do not talk about the Library. Savvy?" she said, arching an eyebrow.

"Savvy," Flynn said hoarsely.

 _I move a little bit closer_  
 _For reasons unknown..._


	10. Somewhere In The Pages We Forgot

**Somewhere In The Pages We Forgot**

 _Crooked wheels keep turning_  
 _Children, are you learning_  
 _Acclimatize but don't you lose the plot..._

As Flynn explored the book-shelves, looking like a little boy on the loose in a candy-shop, recovering a modicum of his usual insanity, Clara somehow found herself in a room she'd never encountered within the confines of the Library before, the oak-pannelled walls lined with imposing portraits, immortalizing all Librarians that came before, an immemorial memorial. The time ranged from Tudor to today, Clara studying each painting in turn, noticing with some annoyance there were no women amongst their number.

"It's curious," Judson said, suddenly appearing out of the ether beside her, "the tendency to turn gender stereotypes upside down."

"Come again?"

"All through history, most of the Guardians were female, the Librarians, male," Judson explained, studying the last Librarian, an Edward Wilde, his painted eyes alarmingly knowing, "but you'd think it would be the other way around, wouldn't you? But not here. Here our women served the Library as protectors – defenders of knowledge" -

\- "I'm not here for a history lesson," Clara cut across Judson, "I'm only here to make sure Smart-Arse over there arrived for his interview. Now he has the job, I'm done. So if you just tell me where you put the back door, I'll get out of your hair."

Judson looked at her almost sadly. "You really didn't think it would be as easy as that, do you?" he said, folding his hands behind his back. "Even after all you've experienced, all you've learned" -

\- "I don't care how much you know," Clara hissed, rounding on him, "or what you think you know, but I am done with babysitting the Brainiac. I escorted him here – practically chauffeuring him to the gig. That was all I had to do. He made a choice not to come to the interview – I changed his mind. Doom avoided, done and dusted."

"You haven't caught the catch, have you?"

Clara stared at Judson, feeling a cold chill spreading down her spine, as if the trap had finally closed around her.

"Flynn is not the Librarian," Judson said simply, dropping his hands to his sides, "not yet."

Clara took a step back, knowing it to be in vain, that there was no escape to be found.

"He has to earn that title," Judson continued, "to become the Librarian requires more than intellectualism. Flynn..." He hesitated, trying to find the words to describe Flynn, only for Flynn to suddenly fly past the doorway, attached to an out of control jet pack, screaming at the top of his lungs. "I think Flynn just illustrated my point perfectly," Judson said delicately. "But to further elaborate, Flynn is the kind of man who can't tie his shoelace without having a near death experience. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

Clara did a dramatic double-take, before backing away, shaking her head. "Whoa, hold your horses," she said, holding her hands up, "I have tried being a Guardian and let me tell you, I failed miserably. So thanks but no thanks, I'll just stick with the day job" - Her voice suddenly cut off, stopping short, realising too late she'd ditched the day job.

Judson just looked at her, making Clara squirm slightly, feeling strangely guilty, as if she'd let him down in some inexplicable way.

"Flynn will have a Guardian," Clara argued, attempting another offensive, "that's one of the perks of being a Librarian. I know he'll say he doesn't need one, but that was then, or it was, or it will be – what I mean, he'll get a Guardian _now_. It's – it's tradition – that's what you said" -

\- "No, Clara," Judson said tiredly, "it _was_ a tradition. But it's out-dated now. Having a Guardian won't save Flynn from dying before he becomes the Librarian. It never saved all of them," he gestured to the row of paintings, "it didn't save Edward." There was a painful silence, Clara cradling her head between her hands, unable to deal with what Judson was all but demanding. "There was Nicole," Judson said slowly, making Clara's head snap up, "there would _be_ Nicole, but you being here changes everything – Flynn's _choice_ has changed the fabric of fate itself entirely."

Clara stood there, finally putting a name to the look that was sometimes on Flynn's face, _Nicole_ , the woman he never spoke of, the painful expression in his eyes the only indication she ever existed. Clara only had a brief broken engagement in her romantic past, having spent the majority of her life singularly single, but she was aware Flynn's relationship history was rather more colourful than hers, although to look at him now, she would never have thought it. "Why me?" she said quietly, lowering her hands to her sides. "Alright, it was Flynn's choice, but _I_ chose to leave" -

\- "You chose to stay by choosing _this_ ," Judson snapped, losing his customary cool, gesturing around him with an agitated hand at all Clara would sacrifice herself to save. "That was _your_ choice."

Clara stared at him again, reality suddenly turning red, the Library asking too much this time, always taking, never giving. "You know, it's not always going to be like this," she snapped, waving her arm wildly at the row of paintings, "one Librarian after another, sending them out to the slaughter, with only a book between them and the flames. Things will change" -

\- "But there will always be a Librarian in the Library," Judson said slowly, "whether there's one or one hundred."

Clara just looked at him, nostrils flaring, wondering for the thousandth time how much he knew. Once there had been only one Librarian, _the_ Librarian; now there were four, or there had been. But how Judson knew this, that everything would change, Flynn rewriting the rules; again, Clara didn't know.

"You never got your letter," Judson said simply, ruining her reverie, "yet here you are. Nothing changes, not really. There will _always_ be a Librarian in the Library, and you will always find yourself here."

Clara dropped her gaze to the ground, fists clenching by her sides, Judson juxtaposing himself with his contradictions. Everything changed whilst staying the same, the cerebration making Clara's head spin. "Change comes at a price," Clara then said through gritted teeth, raising her head, "and I paid for it with blood. Now you're asking me to pay for the past with my heart. I... I just can't do it, Judson."

"Do you love Flynn, Clara?" Judson asked suddenly, startling her. "Did you tell him you loved him? Did he say that he loved you?"

Clara exhaled sharply, feeling like the breath had been stolen from her lungs.

"Love led you here," Judson said quietly, "and love might not let you leave. Think on that, Clara Hartley, before you go back."


	11. Conversations

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967** and **Fanficqueen306** for your kind reviews. A new video can be found on Youtube under **still into you - flynn carsen & clara (oc)**.

* * *

 **Conversations**

 _Cliches find a home inside of him_  
 _When he enters all of the lights go dim_  
 _He's so sure he's got a tragic lifestyle..._

He turned it over between his hands, hands that were soft and manicured, the hands of a man who wielded words as weapons, above delivering a blow with a mere blade. "It is a thing of beauty is it not?" he said to his companion, his gaze riveted on what would deliver the dominion he dreamed of.

His companion shook back her greying dark hair, before drawing her silken dressing gown tighter around her, hiding her displeasure at not being the centre of his attention. "What it is capable of far outweighs the merits of its craftsmanship," she said quietly, glancing out at the glittering landscape, a city that so many sought to conquer.

"You know, you don't always need to be so relentlessly practical, darling," he said with a heavy sigh, reluctantly setting it down, taking one last lingering look at it before finally facing his companion.

"One of us has to be."

"Lately though, your practicality hasn't exactly served you well, has it? First the Guinevere debacle, and then that nasty scene with Dulaque over that hideous debt" -

\- "I gave everything to the Cause – even my own child. It was that fool of a husband of mine that destroyed everything, not _me._ "

"The love a parent has for a child can be a very powerful thing."

"It didn't save him from death, did it?"

Silence.

"What of your daughter?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hand smoothing down the counterpane. "She still unable to remember anything of the ritual?"

"She's almost amnesiac. All she can recall is her father dying in front of her, then complete darkness. It is probably for the best though. I have no desire to explain the impossible to an imbecile. She spends all her time with her head stuck in a book, but for all that, she is remarkably dull-witted."

"She doesn't recall your part in his demise?"

"No, she doesn't. I suppose we should be grateful for her selective memory. All she does now is mope around, whining for her father to come back. She's seventeen for crying out loud, not seven. I really think it was a mistake to leave her behind in London to superintend the house move. But then again, we're only moving from squat to another."

"If you're dropping hints for me to financially help you out, I can't, darling. My hands are tied."

"But surely your connection to Dulaque" -

\- "He's my best backer – I'm hardly going to bite the hand that feeds me, am I? After all, you tried that trick, and look where it led you."

"You have no idea, sweet one. Dulaque has completely _demeaned_ us. He took the house and everything in it, even that portrait my stupid husband commissioned of me. He barely left us with the clothes on our backs!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't borrow money from medieval men, darling."

"I know that now, believe me."

"Does Dulaque know of your daughter?"

"He's never met her, and he's never going to, so you can stop dropping hints of taking her round to Chamberlain House and hurling her at his head."

"Maybe if you'd told him about the Cause" -

\- "Dulaque is the Cause's greatest enemy. _Her_ blood is on his hands. If he knew..."

"You might be pleasantly surprised, darling. I think Dulaque would give a great deal to have his lady-love back. Absence makes the heart fonder and all that."

"He _can't_ and _mustn't_ know."

" _Maybe_ he should know that his lost love slumbers inside your daughter, that she's just waiting to be awoken by true love's kiss" -

\- "Don't be a fool" -

\- "Well, at least that part of the ritual worked, didn't it? And after all, your dear daughter grew up with posters of Lancelot on her wall, didn't she? You at least made sure that she was educated in all things Arthurian" -

\- "That part of the ritual may have worked, but it's all the more reason for Dulaque not to know, for there may be a chance in the future to rectify what went so wrong. We just have to bide our time" -

\- "But what if a little bird whispered in Dulaque's ear that his queen was so close yet so far? It may yet prove a profitable enterprise" -

\- "The little bird only seems to think of gilding his own nest. Does Dulaque know you've acquired that rather interesting artefact? That you paid his own people to go behind his back"-

\- "Perhaps it's best Dulaque doesn't know of your daughter after all," he said hastily, rising to his feet, before reaching over for his shirt. "We should just let Guinevere rest in peace."

"For the time being," his companion said coldly, hiding her triumph, her lover trusting her with too much, much to his own mistake.

"When are you returning to London anyways?" he said, swiftly changing the subject, making his companion raise a dark brow.

"Why so eager to be rid of me, sweet one?"

"That is the last thing I want, darling."

"Good, because I was toying with the idea of making a permanent move to these shores. America is the land of the free, is it not?"


	12. 7:01

**7:01**

Clara folded her arms across her chest as she followed Flynn across the crowded courtyard, Flynn rushing ahead, holding aloft his cup of coffee, nearly knocking down several strangers in the process. In the end, she had bailed on the plan to seek out the back door, reluctantly returning back to Flynn's house instead, Flynn keeping his distance, the Library dividing them then and now. Whatever way she put it, Clara had lied to him, and Flynn was now struggling to have faith in her, the little he'd had now lost.

Flynn had told Margie of his new job, coldly keeping to the fact he was now a librarian, hiding the truth in plain sight. Margie had taken him and Clara to a new restaurant that had just opened in town, splashing out on champagne to celebrate, Margie alarming Clara with her alacrity in accepting Clara as almost a Carsen. The evening had been uncomfortable, Flynn surprisingly making a botched effort at being Clara's supposed boyfriend, awkwardly holding her hand and kissing her cheek at random intervals with the air of attending his execution. But Margie had been almost in tears at his displays of affection, wending her way through daydreams of winter weddings, of having a grandchild by the end of next year.

"7.01," Flynn yelled at Charlene, who was unlocking the elaborately ornamental metal entrance to the Metropolitan Library with one hand, clutching a coffee with her other, "you're late!"

Charlene started violently, her coffee jerking out of her hand. "What fresh hell is this!?" she exclaimed, eyes filled with fury.

"You'll have to dock your own pay," Flynn pointed out as Clara drew level with them.

Charlene just gave him a withering look, Flynn withering on cue, almost shrinking into himself.

"Uh... coffee?" he offered awkwardly, proffering his paper cup with the protective sleeve.

"Don't mind if I do," Clara said smartly, taking the coffee, making Flynn glare at her.

"Oh, look, it's the Librarian who isn't the Librarian," Charlene said, sneering at Clara's red floral dress and navy blazer combination bought courtesy of Flynn's coffers, "and her kiss-ass side-kick."

"Menopausal, are we?" Clara said sweetly. "Or are you just being your usual charming self?"

Charlene just flushed hotly, before storming inside, Flynn following, Clara seconding him.

" _That_ was worth the price of your outfit alone," Flynn said in a low voice to Clara. "Thank you for defending me so succinctly."

"Money can buy you almost everything," Clara said sarcastically, "loyalty if not love."

Flynn threw her a funny look at that, but Clara deflected it by demurely sipping her coffee, wishing herself a world away.

* * *

"The Serpent Brotherhood have stolen the Spear of Destiny?" Clara said stupidly.

Judson glanced at her, sporting the latest look in black eyes, giving him the rakish air of a one-eyed raccoon.

"Some things never change," Clara muttered, turning away from the tableau of Judson's makeshift sickbed on the leather sofa, avoiding Flynn's frantic glances. They had come across Judson out cold on the ante-room floor, and after surveying the surveillance tapes, it had been only to see the Serpent Brotherhood stealing the aforementioned Spear of Destiny, getting Clara's morning off to a simply great start.

"You boy," Charlene snapped at Flynn, almost startling him out of his skin, "spill the beans on the Spear of Destiny."

" _Me?_ " Flynn said, clutching his chest dramatically.

"No, Norma Jean in the corner," Charlene spat. "Yes, you!"

Flynn swallowed hard. "Uh, the Spear was supposedly meant to have pierced the side of Jesus when he was on the Cross," he said in a rush, "making it an ancient talisman reported to have mystical powers – that anybody who wields the Spear also wields the fate of the world" -

\- "Somebody pass me my sleeping bag," Charlene said, pretending to suppress a yawn. "All I wanted was an abridged version, boy, not the bloody Bible," she suddenly snapped again, startling Flynn out of his skin once more.

"Leave him alone," Clara flared up, "he can't help being a know-all."

"What, and you can?" Flynn said, incensed.

"There's a time and a place," Clara said coldly.

"None more so than now," Judson interjected, patting Flynn's shoulder paternally, silencing both Charlene and Clara. "For thousands of years," he then said, standing up with some difficulty, "those who possessed the Spear, from Charlemagne to Napoleon, became the greatest conqueror of their time" -

\- "Wait," Flynn said suddenly, before sprinting over to Judson's desk. "I'm experiencing an epiphany!"

"I await with great expectation," Judson said, sitting back down, looking faintly amused.

"The Spear only exists in fragments," Flynn reeled off, stooping down in front of the screen, "it's been dismantled and divided" -

\- "Well observed," Judson said, folding his hands in his lap.

"Why?" Clara asked curiously. "Why was it taken apart?"

"The Spear was too powerful to remain intact," Judson said gently, as though explaining the universe to a child, "so since you can never completely destroy the Spear, the first Librarian, hundreds of years ago, broke it into three pieces and scattered the Spear in secret places across the sphere."

"Well," Flynn exhaled sharply, straightening up, "with the Spear all broken up, it still can't be a threat, can it?"

"Don't be so damn naïve," Charlene spat. "Hitler only had one piece. Only a fool can fail to imagine how powerful one person could be with the Spear pieced together once more!"

"That was the whole point of stealing that fragment of the Spear, Flynn," Clara said, rolling her eyes as she turned to Flynn, "to unite it once more with the other fragments."

"We all have our off days," Flynn sniffed. "Even the elite, Hartley."

"You didn't understand why the Spear had to be dismantled," Charlene aimed at Clara, "when a two year old could have figured it out. So don't slam the boy for his slip-ups when you're making plenty of your own."

"We learn from our mistakes," Judson said, something in his voice making Charlene fall silent, "from chaos comes knowledge."

But Clara wasn't listening, only staring at the frozen screen, her brow furrowing.

"What is it, Clara?" Judson asked, concerned.

"Nothing," Clara said, shaking her head, "nothing at all."

* * *

"Why did you look so weird in there earlier?" Flynn asked Clara, before cramming the rest of his croissant into his mouth, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Clara picked at her own croissant, avoiding his eyes. They'd spent two hours with Charlene clearing up the mess made during the break-in, only for Flynn to make an even further mess by somehow unleashing an ancient curse, leading to Charlene to dismiss them for an early lunch-break, ignoring Flynn's idea of using magic to clean everything up. And now here they were, Clara caught between a rock and a hard place. She was meant to make sure Flynn became the Librarian, but the theft of the Spear of Destiny was turning her task into something else entirely, Clara becoming convinced Charlene and Judson were going to throw Flynn to the lions in a suicidal attempt to get the Spear back.

" _Clara_ ," Flynn whined, flapping his large hand in her face, "why did you look so weird? I want to _know_."

Clara raised her head, lips trembling slightly. "I... I have history with the Serpent Brotherhood," she said, voice cracking, "history I'd rather not repeat." Even though the Serpent Brotherhood had nothing to do with resurrecting Guinevere, Clara had learned too late of her mother's involvement with the organization, not knowing how far it reached, only knowing she had ran up huge debts, being forced to sell the family home and its contents to Dulaque, Chamberlain House becoming the Brotherhood's base.

"What do you mean history?" Flynn asked, sitting up, spine suddenly ram-rod straight.

"They hurt me," Clara said through gritted teeth, "they hurt the people I care about." _They'll hurt you_ , she silently added, the thought making her fists clench. All that pain was yet to come, Clara putting herself between blade and bone, her sacrifice scarring Flynn more than a sword could.

"Does Judson know?"

"I don't know," Clara said, shrugging her shoulders, "he might, he might not. Judson likes to talk in riddles. I'm never quite sure what he knows."

"Or you're afraid of what he does know," Flynn said sarcastically, "I noticed you don't like your little acts of evasion being uncovered."

"I didn't lie to you, Flynn," Clara snapped, sick of sounding like a broken record, "I was... I was just trying to protect you."

"What, by being economical with the truth?" Flynn snapped back. "By employing silences to suit yourself? Working your womanly wiles on me - making out you showing up in my life just before that damn letter was sheer coincidence?"

"I may have implied but I never outright lied" -

\- "You weren't trying to protect me," Flynn said, shaking his head, "you were protecting yourself. You had a job to do, to involve me in this frankly insane undertaking, and if you had told me a magic library wanted to put me on their books, I obviously wouldn't have believed you, mystical glowing letter or not. So you _schemed_ and _plotted_ and _manipulated_ to get me here, playing on my better nature might I add. You _pushed_ me into this position" -

\- "Because you needed pushing," Clara flared up, "because you forced me to push you. But don't play the part of the naïve country boy, Flynn. You _knew_ full well something was in the wind, and that it wasn't entirely... normal. You said so yourself, that you didn't know what was happening – you said I wasn't to tell you, to leave it in the lap of the gods" -

\- "Whatever," Flynn said coldly, "I don't care what you say, I don't trust you, Clara Hartley, you and your snaky connections to this Serpent Brotherhood."

"You trust me enough around your mother" -

\- "Don't you dare bring my mother into this" -

\- "You trust me enough to let me sleep under your roof," Clara said in a wild rush, "to feed and clothe me; to come with me on what you classed as a fool's errand – you trusted me enough to agree to all this!" She waved her arm wildly, just missing Flynn's nose, making him reel back. " _You_ chose _this_ , Flynn!" she bellowed, scattering croissant crumbs to the wind. "It was _your_ choice, not _mine_."

"No, _you_ chose for me," Flynn said, getting to his feet, "nobody else, just _you_." And with that, he turned and stalked into the crowd, leaving Clara on her own again.

 _Why aren't you shaking_ _  
_ _Step back in time_ _  
_ _Graciously taken_ _  
_ _Oh you're too kind…_


	13. Decide On Us

**Decide On Us**

"What's going on?" Clara asked, slowing to a stop, her abrupt entrance making Flynn drop his teacup. She'd picked over the rest of her lunch, losing what little was left of her appetite, before making her way back to the Library, only to find Flynn tete-a-tete with Judson and Charlene, his guilty face giving the game away.

"We're just having a little tea party," Judson set lightly, setting down his own teacup, exchanging an odd glance with Charlene as he did, "discussing over some delicious Earl Grey your secret connection to the Serpent Brotherhood."

"Oh, so you want to see my secret connection to the Serpent Brotherhood, then!?" Clara snapped, before suddenly lifting up the skirt of her red floral dress, hauling it up until it was well above her hips. "See that!?" she spat, jabbing her finger at the long tapering scar down her side, where she'd been impaled on Excalibur. "That's my connection to the Serpent Brotherhood right there" -

\- "As I observe," Judson said hastily, standing up with some difficulty, shaking off Charlene's steadying hand, Flynn looking like he was going to faint. "You've proved your point, Clara, but please put your undergarments away. I think Flynn is going to have a heart attack."

"Oh, come on, it's not like he's not seen my so called undergarments before," Clara spat, "and if not, he better bloody get used to the sight!"

"Impure!" Flynn yelled, recovering himself, pointing at Clara dramatically. " _Impure!_ "

"Stop bickering like a pair of brats!" Judson bellowed, startling Flynn into silence. "This is not kindergarten!"

"He backstabbed me!" Clara said in disbelief, dropping her dress, much to everyone's relief. "He came running to you, telling tales like some ten year old, trying to be teacher's pet" -

\- "I was not!" Flynn protested, getting to his feet, nearly knocking over the table as he did.

"You were too!"

" _Enough!_ " Judson demanded, suddenly sitting down, Charlene standing up. "What did I say!? No _fighting!_ "

"If there's going to be fighting," Charlene said smartly, "it's going to be against the Serpent Brotherhood, not amongst ourselves. Savvy?"

Clara stared at Charlene. "That's my word," she said pettishly, "you can't just take other people's words."

"I just did, sweetheart," Charlene said with a cruel smile. "You might say I've gone native."

"Can we focus on the matter at hand, please?" Judson snapped. "We have to recover an ancient artifact from the hands of an even more ancient enemy!"

"I didn't know snakes had hands," Flynn said stupidly.

Judson just pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Look, maybe we should phone the police," Flynn exclaimed, throwing his large hands up in the air, completely losing his head, "they – they can just go and arrest this Serpent Brotherhood!"

"Oh, yeah, call the cops," Charlene drawled, "tell them about the Spear of Destiny, the Golden Goose, the Emerald of Exon and yadi-yada. I'm sure they'll appreciate such a yarn, and so will the men in white coats."

"Yes, enjoy your stay on the psych ward, Flynn," Clara said pertly, "I understand Thorazine comes in vanilla now."

Flynn just shook his fist at her, making Judson shake his head, tired of their childish behaviour.

"Nobody can understand the mysteries of the Library's traditions," Judson said tersely, "and it seems too much to expect the two of you to even try."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Flynn asked suspiciously, sensing something behind Judson's words, something he was sure he wouldn't like.

"You're the only one who can bring back that piece of Spear, Flynn," Judson said, exhaling sharply, "you and only you."

"Me?" Flynn said in disbelief, taking a step back, only to knock over a stack of books.

"You're the bloody Librarian, Flynn," Clara snapped, as Judson snapped his fingers, making the books re-stack themselves, "so yes, you." Her eye briefly caught Judson's, making him raise an eyebrow, reminding her of their earlier conversation about Clara finally catching the catch, contradicting what she'd just said.

"You might say I'm the Librarian," Flynn argued, "but that doesn't mean I am."

"I asked if you could become that man, the Librarian," Judson said impatiently, "and you said yes, that you could. This is the moment you become that man, Flynn."

Clara just stood, confused and bewildered, Judson making sense and nonsense.

"Don't try and apply logic to the Library, Clara," Judson said tiredly, "it's a wasted exercise of intellect."

"But" -

\- "But you shall be accompanying Flynn as his Guardian," Judson continued, cutting across her, "a task I hope you shall undertake to the best of your ability."

"Excuse me, you said the Guardian was an outdated tradition," Clara flared up, "that it wouldn't save Flynn from dying – that it hadn't saved any of the other Librarians either" -

\- "Excuse me!?" Flynn squeaked. "Did you just mention me and dying in the same sentence?"

"I said it would be too much to expect you to understand the Library's traditions," Judson said evasively, ignoring Flynn, "so you can start now by assuming the traditional mantle of Guardian."

"I can't believe this," Clara said, shaking her head, beginning to pace the floor, "first of all Flynn's the Librarian, and then he isn't, then he is, then he isn't, and then there's no Guardian, no Nicole" -

\- "Who's Nicole?" Flynn asked stupidly.

\- "Now there's a Guardian," Clara continued, ignoring Flynn this time, "who now happens to be me, when you said Guardians were basically a waste of time" -

\- "Hey, hey, I don't want you as my Guardian angel or whatever it is," Flynn protested, flinging himself in front of Clara, forcing her to a stop, "not when you're sneaking about with these snake people."

"I'm not talking to you," Clara said clippedly, turning to Judson, "I'm talking to _him_."

"Him has a name," Charlene said acidly.

"And thy name is Judson," Judson said biblically, rising to his feet once more, "lest thou forget."

"How could we?" Clara trilled, starting to crack under the pressure.

"They didn't take the book," Judson said suddenly, leaning over, before picking up a black leather bound volume, "so that's a stroke of fortune in our favour."

"Oh, they didn't?" Clara said, flinging up her hands, Flynn looking fearful at her almost hysterics. "How fortunate!"

"Just as I said, Clara," Judson said coolly, looking over the top of the book at her, something in his face forcing her to get a grip.

"What's so important about the book, then?" she asked, feigning a calm she didn't feel as Charlene poured herself another cup of tea, Flynn sitting down again, making himself uncomfortable.

"If you ever want to hide something, hide it in plain sight," Judson said cryptically, his hooded gaze boring into Clara, both knowing he wasn't just talking about the book.

"Um, can you say that in layman's terms?" Flynn said nervously. "I'm sort of out of the loop so to speak."

"This book contains all the clues you'll need to locate the other two pieces of the Spear," Judson said, rolling his eyes, before setting the book back down again. "The second piece is in the Amazonian jungle which is frankly rather amazing."

"Oh, good," Clara said sarcastically, "that narrows it down to about three million square miles. Needle in a haystack anyone?"

"Give the fool the book," Charlene said to Judson, indicating Flynn, all but ignoring Clara's outburst, "and give Miss. Party Pooper here a raincheck. We've got work to do."

Judson exhaled sharply again before picking the book up once more, leaning over the table, Flynn taking the volume with trembling fingers. "The book is written in the Language of the Birds," Judson explained, as Flynn flicked through the first few pages, "as you can evidently see by the apparently nonsensical garble."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed that," Flynn said shakily.

"It's mankind's universal language actually," Clara corrected almost automatically, "it was before God decided man should speak many tongues - _after_ the Tower of Babel of course."

"How kind of you to enlighten us," Charlene drawed, "none of us knew that the Language of Birds had such exonerated origins."

"Charlene," Judson said warningly, "let's play nice now. We're all batting for the same side."

"Are we?" Flynn said, glancing up from the book, his gaze falling accusingly on Clara.

"Do you even know who the Serpent Brotherhood are, Flynn?" Clara demanded, advancing on Flynn, who hastily shook his head, suddenly struck mute with fear. "Well, listen and learn, Smart-Arse, because you're going to _need_ to know, so consider this an accelerated education. The Serpent Brotherhood were a splinter group back when the Library was based in Alexandria during ancient times; they were scholars, just like you, but they wanted to use the power of the artifacts to rule over others. Their name orignated from the serpent that tempted Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden because as the old saying goes, knowledge is power, but there those who disagreed with the Brotherhood's ethos. Such disparity led to disagreement, then hatred, then war, inciting the first riots that led to the destruction of the First Library" -

\- "If you're not in league with the Serpent Brotherhood, how come you know so much about them, huh?" Flynn interrupted, jabbing his finger at her, hiding the book behind his back.

Clara just face-palmed herself.

"Anyways," Flynn said pompously, "the Language of Birds has been a dead linguistic communication for thousands of years – is there anybody alive who even knows how to read it?"

"Perhaps you should get cracking," Charlene said pointedly, "time is money after all."

"But I can't decipher a dead language in two shakes of a lamb's tail," Flynn said in disbelief, "even with the Rosetta Stone, it took hundreds of Egyptologists seventeen years to work out what the hell was going on with those hierogylphics" -

\- "I'm sure you can rustle up something, Flynn" -

\- "I really think you're expecting too much of me," Flynn said, shaking his head, cutting across Judson, "this is my first day here and I don't even have a parking place" -

\- "Flynn, the most valuable objects in the world aren't found in the Library," Judson said impatiently, interrupting Flynn in turn, leaning over the table again, "they're right _here_." He tapped the side of Flynn's head, but Flynn just looked at him blankly, completely clueless.

"The fate of the world really rests in his hands?" Charlene said sceptically.

"I'm afraid so," Clara said tiredly as she sat down, pouring herself a comforting cup of tea, reasoning she at least deserved that one small mercy.

"How... sad," Charlene said, shaking her head in disbelief, before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

 _Jesus Christ can't save me tonight_ _  
_ _Put on your dress, yes wear something nice_ _  
_ _Decide on me, yea decide on us…_


	14. Into The Blue

**Into The Blue**

Clara drew back the curtain, ignoring the pilot's offer to escort her to her seat, too lost in her own turmoil to notice his suspicious solicitousness. The evening before, Charlene had returned in another puff of smoke with two plane tickets, sealing Clara's fate. Now Clara was here, somehow existing in one extreme to another, to be or not to be, resurrecting the memory of Jenkins's words, _I always said you were more Guardian material than Librarian, but it wasn't my decision. The Library obviously couldn't decide between brains and brawn. I suppose it was just playing it safe..._ the memory only serving to increase her uneasiness, as if the Library had been preparing her for this moment all along, albeit unsuccessfully.

She'd stayed in the Library last night, sleeping on a sofa in the Reference section, unable to face Flynn under his own roof after his unfounded accusations. Upon waking up the next morning with a stiff neck, Judson had then provided her with everything else she needed, before sending her on her way, Charlene sarcastically saluting her, Clara resigning herself to her duty. And here she was, about to embark on a magical mystery tour to the Amazon, with the last person on earth she wanted to be with.

"God help Godfrey," Clara muttered under her breath, gripping her hand luggage even more tightly, the handles digging into her skin. As her gaze travelled across the rows of seats before her, it was only to see Flynn occupying an aisle seat near the back, bespectacled and blowing out his cheeks whilst scribbling furiously on various pieces of paper, his broad shoulders hunched over as he began to mutter manically to himself, rather resembling a madman.

"May I help you, ma'am?" the pilot further pressed, breaking into Clara's thoughts, making her glance sharply at him.

"No, I'm fine," she said abruptly, before shaking her hair back, girding herself for the hell ahead.

As she did, Flynn happened to glance up, his mouth falling open as his dark gaze travelled over Clara, taking in her low-cut khaki coloured vest and frayed denim shorts, the fabric clinging to every curve. She seemed to shake her hair back in slow motion, Flynn gaping like a gormless fool, hugging his notes to himself. Her eye then suddenly caught his, startling Flynn, his papers exploding out of his arms, sending scraps flying through the air. "Sorry, sorry," Flynn said in a wild rush to the startled people seated around him, before scrambling to seize his notes, only for them to fall through his fingers.

"I didn't expect you to show up for the party," Clara said cryptically, making Flynn glance up from where he was kneeling on the floor, only to see her standing in front of him. Exhaling sharply, Clara shoved her bags into Flynn's hands before bending down and picking up all his papers, Flynn handing her hand luggage to the pilot in turn, who sullenly stowed them away in the overhead compartment. "Here," Clara said impatiently, shaking the stack of papers into some sort of semblance, before giving them back to Flynn, his spectacles now askew.

"Thanks," Flynn said suspiciously, tucking them under his arm. A silence then span out between them, Flynn, Clara and the pilot standing, forming a strange trio.

"Are you sitting down or what?" Clara said impatiently, looking at Flynn as if he was insane.

"The real Clara has now returned," Flynn said in a robotic monotone. "Normal service is resumed."

"Oh, be quiet," Clara snapped, shoving Flynn down into the window-seat, before claiming the aisle seat for her own.

"Hey, that was my seat!" Flynn protested.

"Not anymore," Clara said smartly, before glancing up at the pilot who was still hovering, the sight making her eyes narrow. "Can I help you?" she asked, brow furrowing. "You've been practically attached to my elbow since check-in."

"I was wondering if you would you like to watch the take-off from the cock-pit, ma'am?" the pilot asked with a charming smile, looming over her, making Clara get to her feet, the pilot still looming over her.

"Let's get one thing straight, my dear man," Clara said coldly, "whilst your offer must contravene a hundred health and safety edicts, what remains first and foremost is that I am utterly out of your league" -

\- "Ma'am" -

\- "Let's stop for a moment," Clara said, striking a philosophical pose, "and consider what I just said. I am utterly out of your league, light-years I might say. If your league was to explode, I wouldn't hear the sound for three days. So for everybody's sakes, toddle off for take-off. Savvy?"

"As you wish, ma'am," the pilot said stiffly, touching the brim of his hat before turning and leaving.

"Ouch," Flynn winced, making Clara glare at him as she sat down, "how to win friends and influence people, Clara."

"Let's just say I learned from the best," Clara said, looking at Flynn pointedly, who turned red, her dig hitting its target. To say Flynn was socially inept was an understatement, always managing to insult and offend with alarming ease.

"Um, this happens to be my first plane flight ever," Flynn said randomly, changing the subject, making Clara do a double-take. "So I would keep an umbrella handy, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"Just in case it starts to rain vomit."

Clara just looked out of the window, half closing her eyes, Flynn glancing at her, his gaze becoming drawn downwards almost against his will, staring at her low-cut neckline as though in a trance, his spectacles nearly sliding off his nose. "Do you mind!?" Clara suddenly snapped, catching him offguard. "Life is horrible enough without you leering!"

"You – you can leer at me if you want," Flynn stuttered, nearly dropping all his papers again, "not that there's much to leer at."

Clara just looked at him, face full of scorn.

"I'm sorry," Flynn said stiffly, recovering his dignity, taking off his spectacles as he spoke, "I shall keep my wandering gaze under the strictest of control."

Clara raised her gaze to the ceiling before looking out of the window again, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"You know, I think this is all happening rather fast," Flynn observed oddly, the suddenness of his statement making Clara glance at him curiously out of the corner of her eye, "you turning up at my house, the interview, the Library, now this..."

 _Because I tore you out of your timeline_ , Clara thought darkly to herself, _and now time is speeding up, bouncing back on itself, trying to compensate_.

"You show up and I'm inviting you to live with me and everything," Flynn continued, brow furrowing, stowing away his spectacles in his blazer pocket, "just after barely speaking to you that afternoon. It was like we were just picking up where we'd left off but I don't know you, Clara – I've never even seen you before, have I?"

"Maybe we've flicked ahead through a few pages," Clara said coldly, "but that is neither here or there now."

"Is it?"

"What is that meant to mean?"

"I'm talking about the way you look at me."

"What!?"

"Don't play the ace card of ignorance."

"But I don't look at you!"

"No, you _look_ at me."

Clara looked out of the window, refusing to remember the way she'd studied Flynn's face the first time she'd seen him in this time, the way she'd kept watching him afterwards. Flynn was highly observant so it was only natural he would notice, despite her best efforts at being discreet, but her fascination with Flynn was hard to control, constantly comparing him against the Flynn from the future, so different but the same.

"Well, I suppose that conversation is over," Flynn said loudly to himself, shooting Clara a sideways glare, "now if you'll excuse me, I have some popcorn to party with." Before she could stop him, he had pulled out a packet of popcorn, opening it with a loud inappropriately appropriate _pop!_ , showering Clara with popcorn, whilst startling everyone who sat around them.

"You blithering fool!" Clara snapped, shoving Flynn hard in the chest, sending him sprawling back in his seat. "What the deuce are you playing at!?"

"Why the devil are you talking like a character from an Agatha Christie novel!?" Flynn snapped back. "We're hardly on the Orient Express, are we!?"

"I should hope not," Clara said sulkily, picking a piece of popcorn from her hair, before flicking it at Flynn.

Flynn just glared at her again, retreating into the shade of high dudgeon, piling up his papers into a shambolic tower that offended Clara's orderly eye. Time then slowly ticked passed, Flynn donning his spectacles again, before proceeding to wallpaper the plane window with neon pink Post-It notes, scrawling illegible notes across their too bright surface. Curiosity getting the better of her, Clara peered over his shoulder, trying and failing to work out his words. Giving up, Clara signalled for a glass of champagne, figuring she more than deserved it, needing alcoholic courage to face the enormity of the task ahead of her.

"Thank you," Clara murmured, nodding at the pretty Asian air hostess, who inclined her head in return, before turning on her heel.

"Oh, wow," Flynn exclaimed, reaching for the finely wrought fluted glass, "thanks."

"Hands off, Hamlet," Clara countered, slapping his hand away, "this is mine."

"You're not the boss of me," Flynn said, looking incensed.

"But I will be," Clara said cryptically again, "so if I say stay sober, you shall, savvy?"

Flynn just glared at her for the third time, before resuming his scribbling, muttering to himself under his breath as he did. Rolling her eyes, Clara took a sip of champagne, only to start violently as Flynn let out a loud whoop, double-punching the air in triumph. "I did it!" he crowed. "I actually did it!"

"Did what!?" Clara spluttered, choking down her champagne.

"I learned the Language of the Birds!"

"What, just there?" Clara said incredulously, too stunned to protest even when Flynn took the glass of champagne from her, downing the rest of it in one go.

"I am positively parched," Flynn complained, before glancing at Clara, realising she was talking to him. "I'm good but I'm not that good," he then admitted, gesturing to his pile of paper and Post-It notes, "I was up all night... studying."

"Couldn't sleep, then?" Clara said sarcastically, remembering her own uncomfortable night in the Reference section of the Library.

Flynn just looked at her, the tips of his ears turning red, before averting his eyes from hers, Clara realising too late that she'd just answered her own question, that she was the reason for Flynn's sleepless night. Feeling the colour flood her cheeks, Clara looked away, gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Before she could react, Flynn was suddenly on his feet, rising too fast, only to smash his head off the overhead compartment. "I'mgonnabesick," he said in a wild rush, "needbathroomnow!"

"What!?" Clara said in disbelief, diving out of his way. "Now!? Like right now!?"

"Ican'thelpit!" Flynn gabbled as he flung himself into the aisle. "Happenssofast!"

"Watch where you're going, buddy," a thickset man snapped as Flynn barrelled into him, "you nearly goddamn knocked me down!"

"I'msosorry!" Flynn apologized, trying to get past, clamping his hand over his mouth as he moved, only for the man to grab the front of his blazer, halting him like a horse.

"Going somewhere, Librarian?" the man sneered, Flynn glancing down with wide eyes at the man's arm, only to see the tattoo of a serpent winding its way around his wrist.

"Uh, Clara?" Flynn squeaked over his shoulder, making Clara's head snap up. "We may have some company."

Clara stood up, confused, only for everyone sitting in the seats around her to do the same. As the terrible realisation sunk in that she was surrounded, the thickset man suddenly slammed his fist into Flynn's stomach, making him double over with a sharp cry of pain. "Hey!" Clara screamed, rushing forwards, only for the pretty Asian air hostess from earlier to grab her from behind, swinging her off her feet.

"Clara!" Flynn half groaned, half shouted, only to suddenly throw up all over the thickset man's boots.

"You dirty bastard!" the thickset man yelled, seizing Flynn by the scruff of the neck, forcing him to his feet. "I'm gonna make you lick that up!"

"Not before I introduce him to my little friend," the air hostess smirked, casting Clara aside, before withdrawing a narrow plastic case from her pocket. "Now, it's only going to sting a little," she said to Flynn as she opened the case up, only to reveal a large syringe needle, "maybe" -

Clara suddenly rushed her, knocking the needle aside, sending the air hostess crashing into a seat as she did, everybody lunging at Clara in response. "Flynn, run!" Clara screamed, snatching up a tray from the trolley, before hitting it over a man's head, sending him sprawling, sending herself sideways at the same time.

"Where exactly!?" Flynn choked out, struggling feebly with the thickset man, only to emit a terrified squeak as a beautiful blonde woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slamming two suitcases into either side of the thickset man's bald head, knocking him out.

"Eve!?" Clara said in disbelief, smashing the bottle of champagne across a woman's back, showering them both with foam and glass.

"Christmas Eve!" Eve shouted back cheerfully, kicking a man in the groin, making him collapse onto his knees. "I tinkered a bit with time – thought you could use an extra pair of hands!"

"I could use a Guardian!" Clara called back, ducking as a man took a swing at her head, hitting the wall instead. "I'm out of my depth here!"

"You'll learn!" Eve bellowed. "Now get to the bathroom – Jenkins fired up the back door, it'll get you off the plane!"

"What!?" Flynn said, clutching the back of a seat for dear life. "Bathroom, back door, off plane!?"

"You know what happened - what's happening?" Clara fired at Eve, frantically hauling Flynn to his feet as she spoke, Eve double-punching a man and a woman at the same time.

"Discretion is the better part of valour," Eve said pointedly, echoing Judson's earlier observation, before doing a spinning side-kick, sending the air hostess flying through the air.

Dodging another punch, Clara dragged a now weeping Flynn in the direction of the bathroom, Eve clearing the way from afar by hurling champagne glasses like darts at the enemy. As she took one last glance at Eve over her shoulder, their gazes met and held for a long moment, Eve then saluting her, before turning and head-butting the air hostess who had come back for more.

"Bathroom break," Clara said clippedly, shoving Flynn inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

"This is so not the time to join the Mile High Club!" Flynn screeched, collapsing against the wall, sweat beading on his brow.

"Been there, done that, sweetpea," Clara trilled, fighting the panic starting to paralyse her, not seeing any sign of a back door anywhere. "Where's the book!?" she suddenly said, rounding on Flynn with some difficulty, Flynn taking up nearly all the limited space with his long limbs.

"What book!?"

"The book that's written in the Language of the Birds, you nincompoop! The one with all the clues to locating the other two pieces of the Spear!"

Flynn stared at her, all the blood draining from his face. "It's in my satchel," he said in a faint voice, beginning to flap his large hands wildly, "back at my seat, with all my notes" -

The door suddenly flew open, only to reveal Eve, holding out the satchel he had just spoken of, Flynn's papers poking out the side. "I think you forgot something," she said smoothly, handing it over to Flynn, who took it from her with wide eyes. "And _you_ forgot the back door," she fired at Clara just as a flash of bright blue light filled the bathroom, a sudden wind whipping their hair wildly, making Flynn scream like a girl.

"I think it forgot me," Clara said, before shoving Flynn through the back door, throwing herself into the unknown after him.

 _God help me somehow_  
 _There's no time for survival left_  
 _The time is now..._  
 _Cause this might be your last chance_  
 _To disco, oh-oh..._


	15. The Golden Horatio

**The Golden Horatio**

The back door brutally deposited Flynn and Clara onto the rainforest floor, almost spitting them out of the spectrum, Clara landing on top of Flynn, her nose somewhere south of his chest. "Note to self," she said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of hair, "never do that again."

With some difficulty, Flynn untangled his hands from the satchel strap, hesitating before patting Clara's head, more to reassure himself than anything else. "Bathroom, back door, off plane," he said shakily, "I think I've figured that particular theorem out now."

"Go figure," Clara retorted as she half raised her head, blowing the hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks for having my back by the way," Flynn said, ignoring her insult. "You sure know your way around a tea-tray."

"It was just an ordinary old average tray," Clara corrected him, before collapsing back down again, cushioning her head comfortably against his shoulder, "not the sort to serve tea and cucumber sandwiches upon."

"I should really thank your friend," Flynn said, tensing up slightly, Clara too close for comfort, "she did most of the dirty work."

"Too true," Clara agreed, "I'm just moonlighting as a Guardian, Eve is the real deal."

"Well, I wouldn't mind her as my guardian angel," Flynn said tiredly, making Clara tense up in turn, "she can save my sorry ass any day."

"Well, she's fully booked," Clara snapped, "and she's got a waiting list as long as her arm, so you're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"Is she single?"

"What!?"

"C'mon, Clara," Flynn said, rolling his eyes, "it's a logical question."

"She is single actually," Clara retorted, "but that's none of your business."

"She's really single!?" Flynn said in disbelief. "But she's beautiful!"

"Obviously."

"And brave and smart and witty" -

\- "Please found your fan-club somewhere else, Flynn," Clara said curtly, flicking the end of his nose, "Eve has enough admirers as it is without you joining their ranks." Dropping her hand to her side, Clara congratulated herself on that little comeback, hiding her unease in plain sight. She still hadn't forgotten Flynn's other futures, of him engaged to Eve, Clara cut out of his existence as if she'd never been. It painfully resurrected the memory of the odd interlude where Flynn and Eve had briefly been on the edge of something further than friendship, only for it to burn out just as fast, becoming another future never fulfilled.

"What, are you jealous?" Flynn said, tugging her hair gently in turn. "Worried some other woman will get her hands on my manly body?"

"Don't delude yourself," Clara retorted, even as she was all too aware that she was caught in a somewhat compromising position with Flynn, but she couldn't quite bring herself to exile her aching bones from the only soft surface for miles.

"Oh, c'mon," Flynn retorted, "you're draped over me like Caligula on a chaise longue. All you need is some grapes and you'd be all set" -

\- "Stop being so obtuse," Clara said tiredly as she then reluctantly clambered off him, "or I'll throw you to the lions."

* * *

"Mile High Club, huh?" Flynn said suddenly, startling Clara as they trudged through the rainforest, both of them slapping aside insect after insect. "You don't exactly seem the type," he added, studying her, brow furrowing.

"I was joking," Clara lied, forcing herself to set aside the memories of Flynn, a private jet and too many pina coladas.

Flynn just nodded, almost absentmindedly holding back a branch for Clara, before following her through the narrow gap, letting the branch go at the last second, his backside barely escaping the bounce-back. "Who's Jenkins?" he then asked, startling Clara for the second time. "Friend of yours? Boyfriend?"

"No, he's not my boyfriend," Clara snapped, "and he's none of your business. Savvy?"

Flynn just rolled his eyes. "Horatio, Horatio," he muttered to himself, swinging his arms to and fro as he went, "the golden ratio" -

\- "has proven to be the key to everything in nature that we find beautiful," Clara said smartly, startling Flynn this time. "Sorry," she said, kicking a stone aside, "I have a friend who is _really_ into ratios."

"Maybe you should introduce us."

 _I already did_ , Clara thought bitterly, remembering the first time they'd met Cassandra, Flynn becoming distracted by some passing parrot feathers. "I suppose my face is the most exemplary example you've ever seen of that ratio," she said sarcastically, holding a branch back for Flynn, returning the favour. "Symmetry at its most... symmetrical."

"Your snub nose rather spoils the symmetry," Flynn observed, "but your eyes are rather pleasantly aligned."

"No wonder the women flock to you."

"Like pigeons."

Clara just strode ahead, rolling said eyes, Flynn rushing to catch up with her.

"Hey, that woman was going to inject me with sodium pentothal," he said pettishly, falling into step beside Clara, "so the least you can do is show me some sympathy."

"The least _you_ could do is tell us where we are," Clara retorted, slowing to an abrupt stop, placing her hands on her hips.

Flynn's gaze flickered over her, ironically appreciating the symmetry of her stance, how it complimented Clara's voluptuous line of figure. "Well," he said, tugging on his shirt collar, clearing his throat theatrically, "if you gave me a moment to ascend this obliging tree," he continued, slapping the trunk of the tree in question, "I could tell you in two ticks where we are. A humble tree can be the compass of our fate."

"Any other pearls of wisdom you'd like to pass on?"

"If you wish to conceal something," Flynn said cryptically as he then hauled himself upwards, grabbing hold of the stoutest looking branch he could see, "be sure to ensure it is hidden in plain sight."

* * *

"Well, where are we, monkey boy?" Clara demanded as she dragged Flynn up onto her branch, a Flynn who looked like he was going to faint, sweat dripping down his ashen face. He had fallen three times during his attempt to scale the tree, thankfully only tumbling a few feet each time, his falls broken by the thick foliage below. In the end, Clara had cracked and climbed the tree herself, pushing, prodding and pulling Flynn upwards until they had finally reached the top, the heat of the unshaded sun striking them like body-blows, the sheer height making even the catlike Clara feel dizzy.

"Well," Flynn panted, pointing up at the sky with a trembling finger, "that is an extremely rare blue condor."

Clara watched the bird majestically soar through the air until it became a black dot on the far horizon, before disappearing entirely into the vast blue. "Found only within a hundred mile radius of the Amazon's Purus tributary," she said thoughtfully.

"Precisely," Flynn agreed breathlessly, "and see over there? That's Mount Pôrto Velho, the only mountain tall enough to have a snow-cap at this time of year."

"Within this radius again?"

"Precisely."

"Radius versus ratio."

"Precisely."

"Would you please stop saying precisely?"

"It's the only form of agreement I just have enough energy to expend upon right now," Flynn gasped, "nodding might just finish me off."

"Well, I surmise we are about minus 5.2 degrees latitude," Clara guessed as Flynn theatrically dabbed at his brow with his torn shirt sleeve, "and minus 64.6 degrees longitude."

"So we need to go 24.7 miles that way," Flynn puffed, pointing again, "just after I get my breath back, that is."

"Aren't you asthmatic?" Clara asked with reluctant concern, remembering the Flynn from the Loom of Fate, how he had always been brandishing an inhaler.

"No," Flynn wheezed, insulted, "I'm an athlete!"

"Olympic athletes have asthma," Clara pointed out acerbically, "it's not an indication of fitness, although I think in your case, your breathlessness is more to do with how seriously unfit you are, rather than asthma."

There was a long silence. "I... I suppose I am more aesthetic than athletic," Flynn then admitted against his will, "I spent my formative years within the hollowed sanctums of academia, not up the tops of trees, where I could have broken my boyish neck."

"Well, I spent my formative years inside and outside," Clara said tiredly, "my father wanted to bring me up well-balanced."

"What about your mother?" Flynn asked curiously.

Clara looked away, biting her lower lip, unable to answer his question outright. Her childhood had been a happy one, but it had all been a lie, her mother merely biding her time, raising Clara like a lamb for slaughter. She had killed Clara's father when he had tried to save Clara from being sacrificed on the altar for an extinct Arthurian idyll, and it had taken until now for Clara to remember the terrible truth, the illusion that had been her existence imploding from within.

"I'm sorry," Flynn said quietly, seeing she was upset, "I shouldn't have pried."

Clara glanced at him. "You weren't prying," she said awkwardly, "it's... it's just difficult to explain, that's all."

"Where are your parents now?" Flynn said uneasily, plucking a leaf from the branch, before twirling it round and round. "Are they still about?"

"My mother's gone," Clara said, exhaling sharply, "and my father... he – he died this year." She bowed her head, thinking not for the first time, if only she'd been sent back earlier along Flynn's timeline, she could have saved her father from his fate. Yet she secretly felt a twisted relief that she didn't have that choice to make, to put herself first above Flynn.

Flynn didn't say anything, only hesitating before laying his large hand over hers, giving it a timid squeeze.

"We should go," Clara said abruptly, tearing her hand out of his, making Flynn flinch back, "time waits for no-one."

 _These days of dust_  
 _Which we've known_  
 _Will blow away with this new sun..._


End file.
